1
25
23
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1531/46039/BLaydonMKeatingRv1.1.pdf
f9f390c57d7c0c060abc35a647d2d985
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Keating, Raymond
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-08-22
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Keating, R
Description
An account of the resource
10 items. The collection concerns Flight Sergeant Raymond Keating (1338063 Royal Air Force) and contains documents and photographs He flew operations as a bomb aimer with 156 Squadron and was killed 22 May 1944. <br /><br />The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Marie Laydon and catalogued by Barry Hunter. <br /><br />Additional information on Raymond Keating is available via the <a href="https://losses.internationalbcc.co.uk/loss/215249/">IBCC Losses Database</a>.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
They Didn't Come Back
Description
An account of the resource
A memoir by Raymond's sister.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Marie Laydon
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-05-22
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Netherlands
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Netherlands--Dordrecht
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Netherlands--Biesbosch
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Personal research
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
16 printed sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BLaydonMKeatingRv1
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
Distinguished Flying Cross
Distinguished Flying Medal
final resting place
killed in action
Lancaster
Pathfinders
prisoner of war
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1666/43395/BGoodmanLBurnettWv1.2.pdf
b442e45d5519ee84cadd4b9da4dbcb01
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Burnett, Bill
Jock Burnett
William Burnett
W Burnett
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-12-08
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Burnett, W
Description
An account of the resource
Five items. The collection concerns William "Bill"/"Jock" Burnett (1825655 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book and documents. He flew operations as a flight engineer with 617 Squadron.
The collection was loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Natalie Burnett and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Bill Burnett's Biography
Description
An account of the resource
A biography of Bill written by his flying colleague from Bomber Command. It covers his war and post-war activities.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Lawrence Goodman
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Scotland--Midmar (Parish)
Scotland--Spean Bridge
Scotland--Edinburgh
Norway
Norway--Tromsø
Germany
Germany--Hamburg
India
India--Kolkata
Lebanon
France
France--Nice
Germany--Berlin
Great Britain Miscellaneous Island Dependencies--Jersey
Greece
Greece--Athens
Gibraltar
Spain
Spain--Madrid
Turkey
Turkey--Istanbul
England--Blackwater (Hampshire)
Italy
Italy--Naples
Lebanon--Beirut
Netherlands
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Civilian
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Two printed sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BGoodmanLBurnettWv1
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
617 Squadron
aircrew
crewing up
flight engineer
Lancaster
love and romance
RAF St Athan
RAF Swinderby
Stirling
Tiger force
Tirpitz
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2282/41926/LForthHO19200321v2.2.pdf
5a65c4584a1768bf4ecaa5bad92d6107
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Forth, Hugh Ogilvie
Description
An account of the resource
Eight items. The collection concerns Hugh Ogilvie Forth (b. 1920, Royal Air Force) and contains his log books, maps and a photograph. He flew operations as a pilot with 218, 58, and 77 Squadrons.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Ian Forth and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-12-18
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Forth, HO
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Hugh Forth’s pilots flying log book. Two
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LForthHO19200321v2
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Description
An account of the resource
Pilots flying log book two, for H O Forth, covering the period from 2 September 1940 to 31 December 1942. Detailing his operations flown, flying training and instructor duties. He was stationed at RAF Linton-on-Ouse, RAF Upavon, RAF Brough and RAF Godsall. Aircraft flown in were Whitley, Hart, Oxford, Tutor and Tiger Moth. He flew a total of 17 night operations with 58 Squadron. Targets were Frankfurt, Regensburg, Bremen, Ostend, Zeebrugge, Flushing, Berlin, Le Havre, Magdeburg, Amsterdam, Stettin, Pilsen, Wesseling, 'Ruhrland (Dresden [sic]) and Hamburg.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Mike Connock
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940-09-02
1940-09-03
1940-09-05
1940-09-06
1940-09-08
1940-09-09
1940-09-15
1940-09-16
1940-09-18
1940-09-19
1940-09-20
1940-09-21
1940-09-24
1940-09-25
1940-09-26
1940-09-27
1940-09-29
1940-09-30
1940-10-02
1940-10-03
1940-10-08
1940-10-09
1940-10-14
1940-10-15
1940-10-20
1940-10-21
1940-10-24
1940-10-25
1940-11-07
1940-11-08
1940-11-10
1940-11-11
1940-11-14
1940-11-15
1940-11-16
1940-11-17
1941
1942
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Belgium
Czech Republic
France
Germany
Great Britain
Netherlands
Poland
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
Belgium--Ostend
Belgium--Zeebrugge
Czech Republic--Plzeň
England--Staffordshire
England--Yorkshire
England--Wiltshire
France--Le Havre
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Dresden
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Magdeburg
Germany--Regensburg
Germany--Wesseling
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Netherlands--Vlissingen
Poland--Szczecin
10 OTU
12 OTU
58 Squadron
aircrew
bombing
Flying Training School
navigator
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
RAF Brough
RAF Linton on Ouse
RAF Upavon
Tiger Moth
training
Whitley
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/934/36457/BLovattPHastieRv2.1.pdf
295406378e70aa4d2aeb43baeaddc085
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Lovatt, Peter
Dr Peter Lovatt
P Lovatt
Description
An account of the resource
117 items. An oral history interview with Peter Lovatt (b.1924, 1821369 Royal Air Force), his log book, documents, and photographs. The collection also contains two photograph albums. He flew 42 operations as an air gunner on 223 Squadron flying B-24s. <br /><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1338">Album One</a><br /><a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/2135">Album Two</a><br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Nina and Peter Lovatt and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-09-27
2019-09-03
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Lovatt, P
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Hastie DFC: The Life and Times of a Wartime Pilot
Description
An account of the resource
A biography of Roy Hastie.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Peter Lovatt
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2003-10
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
United States
Rhode Island--Quonset Point Naval Air Station
Bahamas--Nassau
New York (State)--New York
Bahamas--New Providence Island
Great Britain
England--Harrogate
Scotland--Perth
Scotland--Glasgow
England--Warrington
England--Blackpool
Luxembourg
France
Belgium
Netherlands
France--Dunkerque
England--Dover
England--Grantham
England--Torquay
Wales--Aberystwyth
Iceland
Greenland
Sierra Leone
Russia (Federation)--Murmansk
Singapore
France--Saint-Malo
Denmark
Sweden
Germany--Lübeck
Netherlands--Ameland Island
England--Grimsby
Germany--Helgoland
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
England--Lundy Island
Germany--Cologne
North Carolina
North Carolina--Cape Hatteras
Aruba
Curaçao
Iceland--Reykjavík
Greenland--Narsarssuak
Canada
Québec--Montréal
Rhode Island
New York (State)--Buffalo
Gulf of Mexico
Caribbean Sea
Virginia
Florida--Miami
Cuba--Guantánamo Bay Naval Base
Puerto Rico--San Juan
Cuba
Florida--West Palm Beach
Cuba--Caimanera
India
Sierra Leone--Freetown
Jamaica
Jamaica--Kingston
Jamaica--Montego Bay
Virginia--Norfolk
Washington (D.C.)
Newfoundland and Labrador
Northern Ireland--Limavady
England--Chatham (Kent)
Newfoundland and Labrador--Gander
Gibraltar
England--Leicester
Massachusetts--Boston
Egypt--Alamayn
Algeria--Algiers
Algeria--Oran
Algeria--Bejaïa
Algeria--Annaba
Italy--Sicily
England--Milton Keynes
Germany--Essen
England--Dunwich
Europe--Scheldt River
England--Sizewell
Germany--Hamburg
England--Kent
Germany--Stuttgart
England--Crowborough
Netherlands--Hague
England--Peterborough
England--Bristol
Germany--Homburg (Saarland)
Belgium--Brussels
Germany--Bochum
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
Germany--Wanne-Eickel
Belgium--Liège
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Aschaffenburg
Germany--Castrop-Rauxel
Germany--Mittelland Canal
Germany--Aachen
Germany--Karlsruhe
Germany--Neuss
Germany--Nuremberg
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Hagen (Arnsberg)
Germany--Leuna
Germany--Osnabrück
Germany--Ludwigshafen am Rhein
Germany--Ulm
Germany--Munich
Poland--Szczecin
France--Ardennes
Germany--Bonn
Belgium--Houffalize
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Grevenbroich
Germany--Dülmen
France--Metz
Germany--Magdeburg
Germany--Zeitz
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
England--Dungeness
Germany--Mainz (Rhineland-Palatinate)
Germany--Wiesbaden
Germany--Dresden
Germany--Leipzig
Germany--Koblenz
Germany--Chemnitz
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Münster in Westfalen
Germany--Worms
Germany--Pforzheim
Germany--Darmstadt
Europe--Lake Constance
Germany--Bergkamen
Germany--Dessau (Dessau)
Germany--Wesel (North Rhine-Westphalia)
France--Aube
Germany--Augsburg
England--Feltwell
England--Croydon
Norway--Oslo
Sweden--Stockholm
Czech Republic--Prague
Italy--Florence
Portugal--Lisbon
Monaco--Monte-Carlo
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
Netherlands--Venlo
Netherlands--Amsterdam
France--Paris
France--Lyon
France--Digne
France--Nevers
France--Lille
Norway--Ålesund
France--Saint-Omer (Pas-de-Calais)
France--Bailleul (Nord)
Belgium--Ieper
Belgium--Mesen
France--Cambrai
France--Somme
France--Arras
France--Lens
France--Calais
Germany--Emden (Lower Saxony)
Netherlands--Vlissingen
France--Brest
France--Lorient
France--La Pallice
Egypt--Suez
Germany--Berlin
Yemen (Republic)--Aden
Cyprus
Turkey--Gallipoli
Black Sea--Dardanelles Strait
Turkey--İmroz Island
Turkey--İzmir
Greece--Lesbos (Municipality)
Greece--Thasos Island
Greece--Chios (Municipality)
Greece--Thasos
Bulgaria
Turkey--Istanbul
Europe--Macedonia
Greece--Kavala
Kenya--Nairobi
Africa--Rhodesia and Nyasaland
Tanzania
Sudan
Eritrea
Ethiopia
Sudan--Kassalā
Eritrea--Asmara
Yemen (Republic)--Perim Island
Ethiopia--Addis Ababa
Sudan--Khartoum
Ghana--Takoradi
Libya--Cyrenaica
Libya--Tobruk
Egypt--Cairo
Iraq
Greece--Crete
Libya--Tripolitania
Tunisia--Mareth Line
Libya--Tripoli
Tunisia--Qaṣrayn
Tunisia--Medenine
Italy--Pantelleria Island
Malta
Italy--Licata
Italy--Brindisi
Italy--Foggia
Italy--Cassino
Italy--Sangro River
Italy--Termoli
Yugoslavia
Croatia--Split
Croatia--Vis Island
Italy--Loreto
Italy--Pescara
Trinidad and Tobago--Trinidad
North America--Saint Lawrence River
Newfoundland and Labrador--Happy Valley-Goose Bay
Bahamas
Florida
Italy
Poland
Massachusetts
New York (State)
Algeria
Tunisia
Libya
Egypt
North Africa
Ontario
Québec
Germany
Croatia
Czech Republic
Ghana
Greece
Kenya
Norway
Russia (Federation)
Turkey
Yemen (Republic)
Portugal
Trinidad and Tobago
North America--Niagara Falls
France--Reims
Europe--Frisian Islands
Germany--Monheim (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Norfolk
England--Suffolk
England--Gloucestershire
England--Lancashire
England--Leicestershire
England--Lincolnshire
Germany--Oberhausen (Düsseldorf)
Greece--Thessalonikē
Germany--Herne (Arnsberg)
Atlantic Ocean--Kattegat (Baltic Sea)
Libya--Banghāzī
Russia (Federation)--Arkhangelʹskai︠a︡ oblastʹ
Great Britain Miscellaneous Island Dependencies--Jersey
Virginia--Hampton Roads (Region)
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
142 printed sheets
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BLovattPHastieRv2
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending text-based transcription
1 Group
100 Group
101 Squadron
157 Squadron
2 Group
214 Squadron
223 Squadron
3 Group
4 Group
6 Group
8 Group
85 Squadron
88 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
B-17
B-24
B-25
bale out
Beaufighter
Bismarck
Botha
C-47
Chamberlain, Neville (1869-1940)
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
crash
crewing up
Distinguished Flying Cross
entertainment
evacuation
Flying Training School
Gee
Gneisenau
Goldfish Club
ground personnel
H2S
Halifax
Harris, Arthur Travers (1892-1984)
Harvard
He 111
Heavy Conversion Unit
Hitler, Adolf (1889-1945)
Hudson
Hurricane
Initial Training Wing
Ju 88
Lancaster
love and romance
Martinet
Me 109
Me 110
mine laying
Mosquito
Mussolini, Benito (1883-1945)
navigator
Nissen hut
Oboe
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
Pathfinders
pilot
Proctor
radar
RAF Banff
RAF Catfoss
RAF Catterick
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Cranwell
RAF Dishforth
RAF Farnborough
RAF Horsham St Faith
RAF Kinloss
RAF Leuchars
RAF Lichfield
RAF Lyneham
RAF Manston
RAF North Coates
RAF Oulton
RAF Padgate
RAF Prestwick
RAF Riccall
RAF Silloth
RAF South Cerney
RAF St Eval
RAF Thornaby
RAF Thorney Island
RAF Windrush
RAF Woodbridge
Roosevelt, Franklin Delano (1882-1945)
Scharnhorst
Spitfire
sport
Stirling
Swordfish
Tiger Moth
Tirpitz
training
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
Whitley
Window
wireless operator
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2149/35910/PStandivanAG17020054.1.jpg
d507fb77a6a8b29bb47b2481e89a3443
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Standivan, Arthur George. Album two
Description
An account of the resource
44 items. An album of photographs taken during and after the liberation of Europe including the liberation of Belsen.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-06-29
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Standivan, AG
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Amsterdam Leidseplein district and Paleis Soestdijk
Description
An account of the resource
Two air to ground photographs, the first showing the Leidseplein area in Amsterdam with the Hirschgebouw building. Captioned 'Amsterdam'.
The second showing a large building in open country is captioned 'Princess Juleana [Juliana] Palace'.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Netherlands
Netherlands--Soestdijk
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Two b/w photographs on an album page
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PStandivanAG17020054
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Geolocated
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
aerial photograph
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2149/35907/PStandivanAG17020055.1.jpg
a6b00a33206c7efbff18c50cb6d15243
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/2149/35907/PStandivanAG17020056.1.jpg
5558a6d95adfb8de0d5a0ad3066a928d
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Standivan, Arthur George. Album two
Description
An account of the resource
44 items. An album of photographs taken during and after the liberation of Europe including the liberation of Belsen.
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2017-06-29
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IBCC Digital Archive
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Standivan, AG
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Amsterdam and Muiden
Description
An account of the resource
Four photographs, two air to ground, one showing Amsterdam canals near Rijksmuseum, the other near Muiden showing some flooded areas.
The second page has two photographs the first shows a crowd in a city street in Belgium, the second shows five what appear to be armed civilian militia, standing by three graves that are marked by German helmets. Caption for first two 'Holland'.
Identification kindly provided by Tommy Hmlnk, Thijs Pieters, David Panton and others of the Finding the location WW1 & WW2 Facebook group.
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Netherlands
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Netherlands--Muiden
Belgium
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Civilian
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eng
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Photograph
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Four b/w photographs on two album pages
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PStandivanAG17020055, PStandivanAG17020056
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Geolocated
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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IBCC Digital Archive
aerial photograph
final resting place
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/746/31383/BColemanTEColemanTEv1.2.pdf
a47a0c7dc2a02b29cf62e3ebd9646c70
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Title
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Coleman, Thea
Theadora Erna Coleman
T E Coleman
Theadore Tielrooy
Description
An account of the resource
Two items. An oral history interview with Theadora Coleman (b. 1933) and a memoir. She grew up in The Hague and was a recipient of Operation Manna.
The collection was catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-09-14
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Coleman, TE
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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MY STOREY
1940 - 1945
[black and white photograph]
Thea Coleman – Tielrooy
[page break]
CHRISTMAS 1939.
Quietly we followed one another into Opa's garden. It was early morning and still dark. The ground was covered in snow, which crunched under foot. Our breath was visible in the moonlight, while the shadows moved forward in a single file. Aunt Elisabeth turned around and put her finger on her lips to indicate that the girls should not spoil the surprise with their giggles.
The surprise was for Opa. All his children and grandchildren had come together to celebrate Christmas in Bergen, a little village north of Amsterdam. We stopped under his bedroom. My father stooped to dig for a stone and threw it against the window. We held our breath. A light switched on....All was going according to plan. We sang Silent Night, a beautiful arrangement for four voices, which sounded as pure as the clear frosty night. We were a musical family, singing and playing instruments were part of our upbringing. And there stood Opa looking down, the window wide open. He was surprised and moved. I noticed that he wiped his eyes with his handkerchief.
Opa fascinated me. He was awesome, with silver- grey hair. His bright blue eyes penetrated your soul. Though he had been a very strict father to his eight children, to his grandchildren he was definitely a lot milder. He kept us spellbound for hours with his stories. We were always delighted when we went to visit him.
This Christmas morning, after breakfast, we all went to church. Very upright, with his silver-knobbed walking-stick Opa led his family to his pew at the front. The church was in candle light and the aroma of the pine branches hanging all around was gorgeous. The minister talked about the dark days to come. I found that strange, because the days should be getting longer! The singing sounded better and louder than ever before! I remember the evening very well, twenty of us around the table was quite an occasion! Our eyes wandered towards the Christmas tree. It was fixed in a musical box, turning around playing carols. Underneath the tree we noticed a few parcels, wrapped in red paper, which was unusual. Normally presents were not given at Christmas. They were books for the children. The adults were talking very seriously. Now and then we heard the words, Austria, Poland and Hitler. We were soon to know what it was all about. It turned out to be the last Christmas together.
It had not been an easy life for my parents as they, like everybody else, were slowly building up their future again after the depression. Ten years after my brother Wim and my sister Willy, I was a planned baby and at my birth in 1933 I was given the name Theodora, Gift of God, which says enough. The greatest step forward, however, was to move to a new house in this recently developed area of The Hague, the Zuider park. The outside stone stairwell led to the front door of our two storey home. From the balcony at the front we overlooked a magnificent park as far as the eye could see.
I loved it all. We now had our own bedrooms, which pleased Wim and Willy. Soon they had to sit their finals for school and they needed peace for studying. They were allowed to put a lock on their door to keep me out. Rightly so, because their marbles and roller-skates were not safe! With Wim and Willy, and my parents, it was as if I had two fathers and two mothers.
I was delighted when in 1939 my younger brother Hans arrived, together with a
washing machine. Both were equally admired and intensely enjoyed! I had now a living
doll to play with and he was mine.
My father was strict, too strict maybe. He believed in a spartan approach. We had to finish our shower with the cold tap, which spoiled the bath fun. Good for your heart, he would say. He insisted that his children learned to swim as young as possible. He was not a very strong swimmer himself, though he rescued a boy from drowning when he was in his teens. With so many ditches around where we lived
now, it was essential. As soon as I started school, Wim and Willy had to take it in
turns to take me to the open-air swimming pool in the park, before breakfast. I
remember Erica, a fat lady with cropped ginger hair, who kindly rubbed my purple body dry after the lesson. I made sure it did not take me long to acquire the skill of swimming!
Piano lessons were next. The teacher, Bep, did not allow you to touch the instrument until you knew all the notes on the music-sheet and the corresponding keys on the piano. Finger exercises had to be done daily too. Finally I could open the lid and play. Practice time was early in the morning. Invariably my father would get out of bed when he heard my inability to count. Every time I made a mistake he would say: "Again, from the beginning!"
It always ended in tears. My mother often felt sorry for me, but I made progress. My father would also praise me:" Well done, Sunbeam!" Willy had piano lessons too, but she did not like it when the time came I surpassed her. Wim played the harmonium, until my mother discovered that the tutor played Wim's set pieces, while telling each other jokes. The lessons were stopped and Wim was quite happy with this.
I liked going to school. It was a long walk, but sometimes I could hitch a lift in the morning on the back of Wim or Willy's bike or my father's crossbar. We had two hours for lunch and all pupils had to go home, rain or shine. Wednesday afternoons were free, because of school on Saturday morning, which was still a normal part of the working week for everybody.
I spent a lovely time with Hans, or I played outside with the numerous neighbourhood kids. We got on very well together on the whole. On one occasion I had taken Willy's bag of marbles and lost them all in a game. I was very upset when they refused to return them. Fair is fair, but I was not looking forward to Willy's anger.
The Sundays were special. Church in the morning and long walks in the afternoon, either to the park or the city. The information given by my parents encouraged our interest, even to this day.
The weekend finished on Sunday night with a serial story, told by my father.
His own made-up tale and he had the knack of stopping at the crucial point that made iit hard to wait till the next episode.
The winter time was great when it started to freeze. As soon as the ice was strong enough the skates came out. Young and old were on their way. I learned behind a little chair or between adults, if they were willing to help.
On December 5th, it was the birthday of St. Nicholas. Some evenings before I had put my shoe on the hearth and sang a special Sinterklaas song up the chimney, hoping that when he rode his white horse over the roof tops, he would reward me with a sweet. Sometimes he didn't! One year, on the 5th, we took our places around an enormous crate in the front room. I was quite neNous, especially when the lid slowly opened and I saw Black Piet's face appear. He is St. Nicholas's helper. After all the poems were read and the presents received, Piet left. I was really sorry that Wim had missed all this. I had not even recognised him as Black Piet!
The long school holidays were a problem as most people had only one week off a year. Very few ever travelled abroad. For us, there were family visits. On rare occasions we would go by train and the destination was usually Bergen, to enjoy the woods, sand dunes and the sea. We would stay on after my parents went back home.
Opa and Aunt Elisabeth lived about a hundred metres away from each other.
Uncle Arie was in the Merchant Navy and often away for very long periods. Their children were about the same age as us, so it was fun to spend time with them. I found Aunt Elisabeth much stricter than my mother! Well, she had to be, I suppose. There were so many exciting things to do. We particularly loved a journey with "Bello", an old steam-train. We would hang out of the window and enjoy the smell of the puffs of steam-clouds drifting along, while the sharp whistle announced our arrival at the sea-side.
Opa would always come along on walks to the woods, encouraging us to collect fir-cones for his fire. How can we ever forget the buckets of green beans we sat stringing in the garden! Hoarding food had been forbidden recently, but everybody still bottled, salted and stored as before, just in case.
During the evenings we made music. One uncle, who still lived at home with Opa, was an accomplished pianist. The others all played a different instrument. We younger ones listened or sang. It was a super way to finish the days. It was at the end of this summer holiday, in 1939, that the idea was discussed for all the family to meet at Christmas.
PROLOGUE OF THE WAR.
What I could not have known then as a seven-year-old that, although I lived in a wealthy country, changes were afoot.
At this point I need to explain that my personal memories in this chapter have been supplemented by knowledge of the facts at an older age. We often had lengthy discussions about this period, at home and at school, long after the war was over, details of which should not be lost with time.
With the Depression years gone and with the wealthy possessions of our colonies in the Far East and the West-Indies you would have thought Holland had little to worry about - but no. The world-stage was politically in turmoil. Drastic measures had to be taken to economise. Insecurity and the disaster of unemployment made people tense and nervous. Especially my father, who had experience of it during the Depression years and had to work very hard now for long hours to keep his present job as an accountant.
No wonder I never got a scooter with proper tyres I so dearly wished for!
With no pension or benefits in those days, we had to save as much as possible for that famous "rainy day".
A great concern was the growth of the NSB, the National Socialists. With anxiety the development in Germany was being witnessed. Adolf Hitler, the leader of the National Socialists, had come to power in 1933 and since then there was a strong military build-up, as well as persecution of Jews. One could see, even then, which direction Germany meant to go.
During the First World War, Holland had been neutral but many doubted that this time it could be the same. It was desperately trying to avoid annoying the strong, states, Germany, Italy and Japan. At all costs, Holland wanted to prevent its people from being subjected to the cruel brutalities of war. When England and France declared war on 3rd September 1939, Holland proclaimed neutrality and Germany seemed to agree.
Germany, with its numerous kingdoms and dukedoms, provided many partners for royal suitors all over Europe. Wilhelmina, our Queen, had married Prince Hendrik in 1901 and in 1937 Juliana, the Crown Princess, also married a German, Prince Bernhard. Under the circumstances, he had to adjust quickly to the Dutch way of life.
When a state of emergency was declared on November 7th, our Queen paid a visit to King Leopold of Belgium, whose country was also neutral, to discuss the situation. They sent messages to all countries concerned to offer mediation. The Dutch have always been a sea-faring nation, so when our ships ran into mines and sank and the borders were violated by aircraft, a complaint was lodged. Goebbels dismissed these incidents as "unfortunate errors".
When Berlin reacted unfavourably to a complaint of yet another border incident, the Prime Minister cancelled all leave to protect the borders and to flood strategic areas of low-lying land, which would hamper the German infantry.
However, this proved an old-fashioned idea of defence, when you consider the use of German aircrafts.
The N.S.B. inside Holland now gave greater concern. Everybody knew that our country was full of German spies and of Dutch people who were pro-German.
They presented a positive danger. During April 1940 the Germans insinuated, for the
first time, a possible assault by the Allies in Holland and Belgium with the aim of attacking
Germany.
A radio-news broadcast was never missed. Also, the English and German ones were closely followed. I was not even allowed to whisper. Family discussions were held afterwards. The word "war" frightened me and, though I did not know what it entailed, I kept on asking if we were going to have one.
In the meantime, trenches were dug across the road from us. How futile that was became clear on that fatal early morning of 10th of May 1940. It was a most beautiful sunny start of the day. We were roused by a steady drone, occasionally interrupted with a diving noise that would become so familiar during the following years. We stood, stunned and pale, clinging to each other on the balcony. The sky was black with German fighter planes, dropping hundreds of parachutists into position. It was like a flock of birds disturbed by a gunshot. Never in my life had I seen anything like this. It was incredible! It was the distress on my parents' faces that made me control my excitement.
The war had started! Without warning Holland had been invaded! The radio gave out bulletins on the situation. Civilian airports and military bases were being bombed. The bridges over the big rivers were blown up to obstruct the Germans. The Germans, in Dutch uniforms, were unmasked and executed. They had to say the word "Scheveningen", and if they couldn't, you knew they were Germans in disguise.
It had only been a few weeks ago since the Prime-Minister had asked the population to stay calm, like Chamberlain waving his piece of paper in Britain, some months before. The N.S.B. correspondent, Max Blokzijl, the biggest traitor of all, reassured the Dutch that from 'German authorities’ source' there was not the slightest reason to suspect a hostile attitude from Germany.
The German Consul asked for an audience with the Minister of the Foreign Office three hours after the attack. He confirmed the invasion and advised that resistance was pointless. Providing that no opposition was given, Germany would guarantee our possessions overseas as well as our dynasty; otherwise, the risk of total destruction was imminent. Our Minister was so enraged about this unannounced attack that he informed the Consul to consider us at war.
I was very scared when I heard planes flying over and jumped on my mother's lap clinging on for comfort. My parents were doing their best not to panic and made a game out of covering the windows with tape, some quite artistically, to prevent them shattering in the bombardments. The black-out did not help me with my fear of the dark either. Hans, now eight months old, had my full attention while the news was on.
The soldiers fought hard and were brave to try and oppose such an enormous army, but it was useless to even contemplate a dent into this iron force. The few blown-up trains with tanks certainly did not weaken the German strength and 79 planes shot down sounds a great number but, compared with the number in action, it was nothing. In one of those planes shot down near The Hague was the German general Von Sponeck. It also contained a saddled horse on which he had hoped to enter The Hague, heading his victorious army, as well as a complete plan of action. The Queen and her Government had to be arrested immediately and to be sent to Berlin.
Everywhere heavy fighting went on, especially along the Rhine to keep the enemy from crossing the river with their heavy armour. Many lives were lost.
At the Palace, in Soestdijk, Prince Bernhard stood armed among the Dutch soldiers facing his own country-men, for which he gained the deepest respect of the population. He and Princess Juliana with their two daughters were picked up by a British destroyer on May 12th. The Queen boarded a British warship and headed for the, as yet unoccupied, province of Zeeland. When it became known that the enemy knew, the course was changed for Britain. The Government sailed that same evening, destination London.
By now most of the country seemed open for the German troops. An un signed ultimatum was presented to the Dutch commander in charge of the Rotterdam defence on May 14th, saying, that in two hours the Germans expected the resistance to cease, or else... The Dutch commander sent the letter back, requesting the signature, rank and unit of the sender. Though Rotterdam had already capitulated, the German bombers destroyed its entire centre, even before the two hours were up!
The whole of Holland had to capitulate; otherwise, all the big cities would have to share Rotterdam's fate. This was it! At six p.m. on May 14th the Dutch surrendered. The war had lasted for exactly five days!
When the German troops entered Amsterdam and The Hague on May 16th the true Dutch watched in silence and with sombre faces, the N.S.B. cheered and presented the troops with flowers and sweets and Rotterdam was still burning. We could see it from the upstairs window, where we watched it with tears running down our cheeks. So many innocent people were burnt alive. The destruction of the heart of commerce. The cranes in the harbour collapsed, like our hope.
To see so many adults cry everywhere had a bewildering effect on me.
Why? What was happening?
The newly elected State Commissioner, Seys lnquart, declared that the Germans had not arrived as conquerors and would not dream of taking away the freedom of the Dutch, nor impose the German doctrine. He had the audacity to say this in the Ridderzaal, where our Queen opened the new sessions of Parliament every year. Even Hitler commented on the "honest fighting of the Dutch soldiers and because no civilians took part, I might consider to free your P.O.W's."
Our P.M. in London sent a message to the Dutch nation that "it was a duty • to work together with the Germans as well as possible." This was considered as so obviously pro-German that he was immediately replaced by Professor Gerbrandy, Cherry-Brandy, as Churchill liked to call him.
One of the police departments, now all under German control, announced in June that one million kg. of potatoes had to be sent to Germany. This was the immediate beginning of the looting of our enormous amounts of stocked food, shoes and clothing. It was a pity that the population did not have a chance to acquire it before it all went to Germany, but a most accurate inventory was already in their hands. The Germans paid for it all by patiently printing Dutch money in unbelievable quantities.
From the beginning there had always been hope that the British would come to our aid, but no sign of them-as yet. Daily, heavy German bombers were flying west, whilst the German soldiers marched through the streets, singing about their next move, England. To support this financially, collections were held, which they called winter help. Fluorescent badges like little houses were given in return, which appealed too many, especially us children. To my disappointment I never got one.
The BBC news was followed intently and we heard about the Battle of Britain. The Germans were not very pleased with this outcome and it must have cut to the core when they marched and sang, "Und wir fahren gegen England", with passers-by adding "splash-splash, glug-glug" under their breath!
After the Battle of Britain, the glug-glug bit was also used as an end piece at dance parties consequently, all dancing was forbidden.
LIFE GOES ON. 1940-1942
At school we held regular drills when the air-raid siren sounded and we had to dive underneath our desks. To start with it was chaos and we found it hilarious. The headmaster had to come in and bash his cane on the desk in order to make him-self heard. Soon he convinced us of the seriousness of the exercise and after that we were as meek as lambs.
The summer holiday started well. I was so happy that I could go up lo the next class in September, but two of my classmates had to stay behind and do that year again, which was a pity.
Wim had finished his schooling and, at nearly 18 could be called up for military service al any lime. This was a great worry, of course. Willy was facing her final year, come September. She did nothing but revise even during the holidays and I had to keep well out of her way.
The Germans were very anti-British. Only their version of events was the right one, therefore they objected to people listening to the BBC and ordered that all radios should be handed in. Nobody did, or at least not immediately. A bit more time for me to listen to the children's choir of Jacob Hamel!
Wim and Willy had taught me an English love song "I love you, yes I do", and also "God save the King", but they strongly urged me not to sing these outside. A great shame, because I wanted to brag.
I was warned about our neighbours, who belonged to the NSB. Their balcony was next to ours. Al least, they were easily recognisable in their uniforms when they stood there showing off. You can imagine my mother's horror when she caught me singing a skit about the NSB on the balcony, as loudly as I could. "On the corner of the street stands an organ grinder. Not a man, nor a woman, but a traitor!" She pulled me back by my hair and thus I found out about dangers of many kinds.
So strong were the feelings against the NSB that you would not even dream of wearing a black skirt with a red jumper, their colours! An alarming number of the Dutch became members of the NSB, convinced they would benefit from being on the winning side. However, once they belonged it was impossible for them to leave. They proudly wore their badges on the lapels and their children were given lots of fun at the Party clubs. To prove to be a worthy member they were expected to pass on messages and information to the authorities, which created mistrust from the outset.
I received, yet again, a warning from my parents to avoid them as much as possible. I did not mind, because only very few members with children lived near us. Little by little restrictions were imposed. To organise the housekeeping was a nightmare for everyone with the shortages, queuing and coupons. Sugar had already been rationed in 1939, which was hard on us as my father drank sugar with tea, instead of the other way around!
By 1942 everything was on coupons, even vegetables. Food-hoarding was forbidden, but many an evening we were all involved in bottling whatever we could get hold of. The washing up was usually left to me and all was done in good spirits, singing away together. We were so pleased when the preserved vegetables, meat and my favourite, apple-sauce, could be hidden away.
During the autumn my father started to bring home apples he managed, again, to obtain via connections with his firm. Eventually there were so many that a cupboard was emptied and planks fixed at the front. It filled up quite nicely and the odd one I pinched was not missed. They were delicious!
No eggs. Pigs and chickens had already been slaughtered before the war to keep the grain for bread-making. Fortunately, we only ate meat on Sundays as a rule. The choice was very limited. It was either horse-meat, often served with red cabbage, or veal and was both very scarce. Calves were killed to prevent them drinking the precious cow's milk.
There was still a choice left what to have on your first slice of bread, the subsequent ones were with 'contentment', that meant with nothing. We did not complain much and ate what was given. That is, except my white pet rabbit.
It was destined for the Christmas dinner! I howled and objected furiously and fled upstairs. Even to this day, I can see its skinned body on the kitchen table when I happened to come down a bit too soon. Nobody could eat it...
In the park, across the road, a large area had been turned into allotments for schoolchildren. Wim already had a plot a year or two and now managed to get me one also. It was run by professional gardeners and nothing less than perfect was acceptable. It was a yearly job for all of us to prepare the site. First, we had to tread paths over the whole area and then divide it into beds, which were measured exactly to the cm. into the same sizes. The vegetables had to be grown like a regiment in straight lines. Rain or shine, we had to attend and it was hard work, but who cared when you brought the proceeds home, for free, and you saw the relief on your mother's face. To her it was an answer to a prayer. Our potatoes, in particular, were very good, much better than the poor quality in the shops, if available of course.
The evening meal was discussion time as well as for explanations. The newly issued stamps had to be stuck more to the left on the envelope to leave a space for the imaginary stamp of our Queen's head. We never forgot to do this.
There would be no more museum visits, because paintings, if not looted, were hidden. (In the sand-dunes, but re-appeared after the war none the worse for wear). However, the children's museum was still open but for limited hours.
Church bells did not ring out anymore. Some were successfully hidden, but a great number had already been seized by the Germans. A deal was struck that, if the bells could not get through the door, they could stay in their position as long as they were not rung. Miraculously one or two doors narrowed overnight!
All along the West coast a heavily armed and mined defence line, two miles wide, was being built. It was out of bounds for civilians. Somewhere we still have a clandestine photograph of the pier of Scheveningen on fire. The story was that the Germans thought that it was a bridge to England. Whatever the reason, the sea-side trips were over for everybody. The people who lived within this zone had to vacate their house and move further inland. Most families had to double up with strangers and store their furniture or leave it behind.
- We received a telegram both from Opa and Aunt Elisabeth asking for help and advice. We did not have a telephone in those days. My father went there immediately and must have been of great help. Opa found a detached house, about 20 miles further north, in Heilo. Aunt Elisabeth was just as lucky to find a big empty house, a few miles outside Amsterdam along a lonely road amongst scattered farms and several windmills.
At last they could move with the furniture to their new house. As for us, we would miss the long walks in the dunes, the swimming in the sea and the fun on the beach. Teenagers may sometimes cause problems.
One evening Willy dropped a bomb-shell whilst we were having dinner. "Do you know that I don't need your permission anymore if I decide to marry a German soldier, now I am over 16 years of age? I hear it is a new law." My father went berserk! Normally the age of consent was 31. I am sure she did it to annoy. She always liked to challenge, especially my father.
One morning a letter was delivered for Wim. Indeed, the call up papers had arrived for the Arbeits Einsatz, a work force for Germany. My parents were naturally upset, but there. was nothing one could do about it. A few weeks later he arrived home in his uniform. It was a faded green. I liked his jodhpurs with bandages up to his knees, but most of all his peak-cap with yellow and green tassel. I tried it on and saluted the mirror. He was also issued with a spade, which I thought was funny for a 'soldier". He was on a short leave before he had to return to his unit and go to Germany.
My mother and I took him to the tram. Tearfully we waved as the tram screeched around the corner. "I'll be back soon," he shouted. It would be years before we met again.
This was also a premature end to his recent employment at the Ministry of Public Works.
It was in 1942 when Willy passed her finals for the Grammar school and was immediately employed by Van Leer's Vatenfabrieken, once a Jewish firm, but now under German control. She was promoted quickly to the technical department, which she enjoyed. Her dearest wish would have been to study engineering, but universities were closing.
She had less time for me and also with Wim gone, my position in the family greatly improved. The whole of our house was at my disposal without restrictions. I could be my happy-go-lucky self. Life was more or less normal. The occupation did not affect us children too much, apart from the shortages and the presence of soldiers.
1942 was the year with many changes afoot of which I was blissfully unaware. Through his firm, my father met Mr. Sanders, a Jew, who helped other Jews flee via
- an escape-route to Switzerland and Spain. He had also set up-an organisation that took care of Jews who had already gone into hiding in Holland. Dr. V, also a member, persuaded my father to join this resistance movement, soon followed by Willy and Jan and Lien Marijnis, the couple in the top flat. He was in the police force.
My mother was not to know anything about all this. One day on my way to school; I
saw a flurry of activity. Men were busy pinning up a notice, 'Forbidden for Jews', on the park entrance, the benches, the tram, the swimming pool and even on the door of the hairdressers. Everywhere! Some shops were being boarded up. People stopped to watch and I wondered what they were whispering about together.
The persecution of Jews was in full swing and all of them were ordered to wear the Star of David, my mother explained. Not everybody did of course, despite the promise of 'protection'. A small number of pupils in our school left. Teachers and professors were being sacked and when the students rebelled, the universities were closed. They could either all hide, or be sent to Germany to work in the factories.
How easily one could get involved. One evening we received a visit from a lovely couple with their three sons. They were Jews. Their house and the contents had been confiscated by the S.S. They were fortunate to have escaped arrest, because they happened to be elsewhere at that time. The father was short and well built with a kind face, the mother was a bit taller and very elegant. I was sent upstairs, bursting to know what it was about. When they eventually left, the eldest, who was my age stayed behind.
I was so excited to hear that Fred was coming to live with us. He had lovely short, wavy black hair and his mother's dark-grey eyes.
I had it all worked out. He could go to my school and we would walk there together. He could have my bed as long as I got Wim's! At the time, understandably, I totally overlooked the fact that here stood a young boy giving a shy impression, but who was in reality very unsure of himself. To be separated from his parents, knowing his situation and to have to live with strangers could not have been easy. Besides, he was given a new surname and had to be very careful not to slip up.
He felt so much happier when he was told that John, his middle brother, was living with Aunt Elisabeth and Frits, the youngest, with Opa, who had remarried after Oma's death in 1940. Frits was a three-year old with blond curly hair and light grey eyes.
Fred and I got along very well together. However, I asked him so many questions that it frightened him and he complained to my father, who took me aside to 'have a word'.
To my friends and the neighbours, he was to be an evacuated relative, or better still, to walk away when asked who he was. Fred rarely went outside, anyway.
He played his part extremely well. I never knew that he pretended to go to school. He walked around the block and when I was out of sight, he returned home. Sometimes, usually when it rained, he could leave home after me, because 'his school was closer by'. I was totally taken in by that one! Willy had taken it upon her self to try and teach Fred. 'To help him with his homework', she explained to me. It
required a lot of patience as he was not particularly very keen. I remember her shouting at him. ·
During the summer we went on a week's holiday and cycled all the way to Markelo to stay at a farm. Since the cows were in the fields, we slept on fresh straw in their stables. Great fun! The weather was good. We played hide-and-seek among the corn sheaves, or we went on bike-rides. On one of them we passed a butcher's shop where my mother spotted a magnificent piece of ham. Unfortunately she had left her purse behind, so we cycled all the way back to collect it. When we returned, the ham proved to be made of wood!
Every Friday night Fred would wear his kippah. Not to be outdone, I demanded one too. Margot, his mother, knitted me a nice woolly hat in the inevitable · red, white and blue colours as a St. Nicholas present. She had also dressed my favourite doll, Pummeltje, in a gorgeous outfit all sewn by hand. Fred's parents were both there for the occasion.
All presents were individually tied to a long string from the kitchen chimney and right through the hall to the living room. My patience was tested to the limit, because my biggest present was the last one and right at the end of the string.
1943
At the end of 1942 the BBC broadcast some hopeful news. The British were fighting the Germans in North Africa!
Our stored, red, Edam was christened 'Tunis Cheese' and would be consumed as soon as Tunesia had fallen, which happened in March. I can't remember, but I bet it was delicious!
No BBC news was ever missed from now on. What really annoyed me were the discussions at home in either English or German. I felt very much left out. I thought myself disciplined enough not to talk about what went on in the home with anybody. One could not take any chances.
By now our home had become a through house for people for whom a place to hide needed to be found. It was mostly for one person at a time. He or she slept in Wim's room and was usually gone by the time I got up. The introduction of the curfew had complicated matters, especially for Willy. Nights were far safer to move about, unseen, on her rounds to deliver coupons to the addresses of persons in hiding, or accompanied people to their new homes.
Years later, she told me about her fears, when she heard foot steps in the night, hoping there would be a dark corner to slip into, if need be. She always tried to pick the safest possible route, if she could manage it.
Finding new addresses was essential. There was a growing demand, not only for Jews, but also for students and young men. It was all very dangerous. You risked your life by putting them up and many people were just too scared.
The big question was who was really trustworthy? Money and favours were given for betrayals and not everybody was anti-German....
The badly needed money, clothing, but above all, false papers were my father and his group's department, later also joined by Willy.
Whatever went on behind the scenes, great care had been taken that, at least, the Sundays were kept as before. My father tried to choose a good story-telling vicar for the church service, often not the nearest to walk to! I found sitting still for an hour an ordeal, but the singing made up for it. Willy or a house guest would baby-sit for Hans, who was too young and Fred, who always managed an excuse why he could not join.
To my delight, a visit to my maternal Oma was on the agenda when the weather was not good enough for walks. Oma was quite short, not much taller than me. Her long hair was plaited into a bun at the back of her head exposing her wrinkled face with the kindest of dark brown eyes. She was extremely deaf and used a horn as a hearing-aid, which she avoided, if possible. Her help was indispensable during those years.
Every given opportunity was taken to curl up on a chair to read. Once a week we borrowed books from the library, but it was a very long walk. Occasionally we would cycle, with me on the carrier, holding the books.
However, a bike was an important mode of transport with which the Germans agreed. When they needed one they would stop you, take it and ride away on it! When they wanted even more, they would round up quite a number and load them onto trucks at the end of the day. So, we preferred to walk from then on.
Mr. Sanders, alias Mr. Ringeling, had been one of our more permanent guests of late. He had Wim's room, which was now out of bounds for everybody else. Mr. Ringeling had a round, friendly face, always smiling and his eyes twinkled behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. The little hair left on his head was grey. I guessed he must have been a lot older than Matty, his secretary, who had also been living with us before. I liked him and so did Matty.
She was a real beauty and great fun to have around, with lots of laughter. We often played board games together. I missed her when she moved upstairs to live with Lien and Jan Marijnis. Fred had left us for some reason and went to live with the family Landrok. He was the chauffeur for the same firm my father worked for. Fred had taken over Wim's allotment with great enthusiasm. His contributions to our food supply would now certainly make a difference. He would be missing his 'garden', as he called it. Of that I was convinced. I missed him as a friend. He had been with us for a year. My mother panicked when, one day, my father asked me what my headmaster was like. Could he be trusted? "Dick! What are you saying!?" she exclaimed. "Don't worry! I'll ask him if he belongs to the NSB", I suggested. I was strongly dissuaded to even think about it! In view of the 'activities' at home, my father thought it best to finally obey the 'last' order and hand in the radio. That way his name would be safely on that register. We had another one, anyway. I went with him to deliver it to the collection point at a school close by. I kissed it sadly goodbye, before it was put onto the pile. Also tin and copper had to be handed in. If you had a garden, you could bury it. We painted ours!
House searches took place at random, therefore, the less they could arrest you for, the better!
BETRAYAL
When a road had been closed off and I saw a truck parked in the middle of the street and armed soldiers going in and out of houses, I froze, especially when people were being led to the truck. The only place I wanted to be was at home.
My parents were very well aware of the danger they let themselves and the family into. Believe me; it must have taken a lot of heart-searching. Once you got involved, there was no way back. They could not have lived like a good Christian without helping others in need. Many years later I asked them if they would do it again, knowing what was to come? After some thought, their answer was still, "Yes, we would".
Mr. Sanders had fallen in love with Matty and decided he preferred to live together at the same address and also moved to Lien and Jan Marijnis' top flat. He wanted to leave his clothes at our house, behind locked doors. So now and then he would call in to change, but always after my bedtime. I rarely saw them.
Nobody knew about that impressive German officers-uniform or the revolver in his wardrobe. Who could have known? My mother certainly didn't. For her own protection, she was kept out of all the goings-on. She was incapable of telling lies, even white ones. Had she known about Wim, she might have been caught out, when people asked after him. Right up to the end of the war she believed he was in Germany, which worried her beyond imagination. She suffered in silence, rarely showing her feelings for Hans and my sake.
Neither my father nor Willy had told her that Wim was in hiding in De Bilt. Nevertheless, stress took its toll. She was dissatisfied with her photo on her 1.0. card and had another one taken, on which she looked so old and haggard, showing the strain, that she stuck with the original. There was worse to come! Poor Matty! Her mother had been arrested and she was told that she would be released if she, Matty, could arrange a meeting with Mr. Sanders. What was she to do? The advice, of course, was dead against it. The Germans were obviously on his trail and he would be a big catch!
Whatever happened, I don't know, except that they met on het Valkenbosplein and she kissed him, whereupon Mr. Sanders was arrested and taken to the Gestapo Headquarters. Here he was spotted by an under-cover resistance worker, who heard that an address book with names had been found on him. Unforgivable!
Mr. Sanders always carried a cyanide pill, just in case. Whether he was able to swallow it, is not known. His body was later identified by his teeth. Matty's mother was never seen again, neither was Matty. All I knew, at that time, was that Mr. Ringeling had not come home that night. The next day started like any other. My father and Willy had gone to work. I was off to school and Hans and my mother enjoyed their time together.
At midday I hurried home for lunch, but nobody was .in! I panicked. This had never happened before. I rang the bell, banged on the door and screamed. Lien found me sobbing at the bottom of the outside stair-case. I was frantic! She put her arms around me and explained that I would find my mother and Hans at Hedwig's
house at the end of our block of houses. Her husband, Toon, was at sea working with the Allies. He and my father had been friends since their school days. I spurted the 100 meters, or so, because I was afraid that I might be too late back for school. Also, what about my lunch? I was hungry!
My mother was sitting on a chair with Hans on her lap. She looked ashen. Perhaps she was ill? On this beautiful, sunny day she was wearing the terracotta dress she had just finished knitting the night before. What was going on? This is what had happened. Within minutes of Mr. Sander's arrest the members of this resistance group had been alerted by way of a jungle-drum method. The advice was to go into hiding immediately, with their family. My father had been warned at the office and he in turn warned Willy. Dr. V. did one of the rounds on his bike and told both Lien and my mother, "Get out!" and was on his way again to warn others. It took place quite early that morning; my mother wasn't even fully dressed yet. She was too scared to go upstairs, so she put on her knitted dress, which she had left in the living room. She may have taken her purse and maybe a toy for Hans, certainly nothing else. She picked Hans up and left the house.
Lien didn't think there was any need yet for such a hurry. Besides, she and her husband, Jan, relied also on a cyanide pill and they decided to stay put. My father, meanwhile, was waiting anxiously at the station. My mother was waiting for instructions from him. Willy raced up and down on her bike to convey their messages. It would have been so much simpler if we had had a telephone in those days.
During Willy's time of work experience at the Van Leer's Vatenfabrieken, she had stayed for a few months with Mr. and Mrs. Mulder in Vreeland. He had given her their address - in case. Finally, the three of them, my father and mother with Hans left The Hague for Vreeland, where my father remained. After a couple of days it was thought safer for my mother to go to uncle Ab, her brother in Kampen. Willy moved in with distant relatives, Rein Lenghaus and his three daughters, on the other side of The Hague, het Bezuidenhout. There were not many hours to spare before the start
of the curfew. Where could I be taken to at such short notice? This was a big problem!
Willy put me on the carrier of her bike and refused to listen to my whining. I wanted to go to our house - I wanted my mum - Where are we going to? etc. She probably told me to shut up. Understandable, of course. After all, she must have been under a tremendous strain.
At her wits' end, she had decided to ask Ds. Straatsma for help. He was the vicar by whom she had recently been confirmed, after attending his classes for the past year. Willy held my hand and rang the bell.
I recognised him straight away from the story-telling in church and as the man with the three moustaches. He had enormous black eyebrows. I was welcome, providing it would only be for few weeks or so. They were a very kind, older couple with a different life style from ours. I was just in time to join them for dinner. I presumed that the finger bowl was for drinking out of. A good start! It must have been as difficult for them as it was for me. All I had were the clothes I stood up in, and that was it. No special outfit for the Sunday. I sat next to Mrs. Straatsma in her pew. The church was over full. I heard her whisper to a friend, who wondered who I was, that I was a child of a family on the run.
This was the end of my childhood! It did not take the SS very long to turn up at Marijnis' and our house. Armed soldiers ran up the stairs and arrested Lien and Jan, who were both at home. Jan was sentenced to death and executed, maybe something to do with being a policeman. Lien was tortured, because they had found an empty holster in their house and they wanted to know the whereabouts of the revolver and the jewellery belonging to the Jews in hiding. Finally, they let her go.
At the same time they were banging on our door, furious that nobody was in. They sealed the lock, which meant that the contents had now been confiscated and ready to be collected. The events of the last few days had been quite a blow to my mother and the fear for my father was choking her. Now she was about to lose her home, as well as the laboriously collected belongings. It saddened her deeply. Willy thought it a downright shame!
Besides, there was still that uniform and the revolver, together with a huge supply of cigarettes and expensive cigars, which my father was storing for a befriended tobacconist. Not to forget the stamp collection and the photographs... Willy's mind was quickly made up. It was worth the risk. First of all, the seal had to be broken. That was a daring deed in itself! There was no knowing when the SS would return to collect the contents... The first time the bell rang, Willy jumped out of her skin, but it only happened to be the milkman. It made her realise she had to have an escape-route ready. 'Via the roof, she told me later. She packed for three days and three nights, as quickly as possible. To avoid suspicion from the outside she left the curtains behind. The vast amount of bottled food she handed to a neighbour to look after, until it could be picked up at a later date. She had even packed a separate suitcase with clothes for each of us. What a godsend that she had even thought of that!
She had ordered a removal van for 5.30 a.m. and when it drew up, she handed them the keys and she herself hid behind a bush in the park to watch it all going according to plan. Part of the contents was bound for uncle Ab in Kampen, who had a ware-house, the rest was being stored in a garage in the Celebesstraat, which Willy had rented. One can only imagine how she must have felt when she turned the key in that lock! After the war I heard how it had enraged the Germans when they found that the birds had flown and the house had been emptied. The indentations of the butts of their guns had marked the front door. An all-out hunt for my father had already begun. At 1 a.m. the SS arrived at the house of his boss, Mr. Van Oortmersen, and because he could not give them any information, he was arrested and deported to a concentration camp in Germany, where he remained until the end of the war. Opa could not tell them either where his son might be. He was taken to the Scheveningen prison, alias 'Oranje Hotel', together with Trijn, his wife, and Frits, where he was interrogated by the Gestapo.
My father was devastated and wanted to turn himself in. However, it was pointed out to him that that would not release them and that he would be shot, if he were lucky. 'There was still far too much to be done for so many others'. There may have been inside help. After a week Opa and Trijn, including Frits, were free to go. Opa even asked for the return of the box with the silver guilders that had been taken at the house-search! I don't know whether it ever was.. My father had obtained a new I D card in the name of Swaagman, who had been born in Indonesia, which could not be checked, because of the war with Japan. His present address was a bombed housing estate, somewhere in Groningen. The most dangerous part was the taking of the legitimate photograph with your left ear showing. He decided to wear spectacles for this occasion. His picture showed his anxiety!
The Resistance had asked the RAF if they would bomb the Kleikamp, a large villa opposite the Peace Palace in The Hague, where the data of the population were kept, because they needed to be destroyed as a matter of urgency. This took place in April 1944. Only from then on could my parents, and everybody else with false papers, begin to feel a little more at ease with their new identities. My mother did not really have enough to occupy herself with in Kampen. She missed my father and the distance between them made her feel lonely. On very rare occasions, she and Hans would travel to Vreeland to visit him for a weekend. Far from an ideal situation.
As it was, uncle Ab and aunt Kitty, his wife, lived above the premises of his transport business with far too many strangers moving about the place. Besides, they had just become the parents of a baby daughter, Margreet. My mother was concerned about the danger in which she was putting her brother and his family and she also realised their fear about her staying with them. When she heard Willy's good news she was so happy and so relieved. Through contacts with Mr. Stoffels and his Jewish wife, Willy had managed to rent a large room on the second floor at the back of their old patrician house in the Joh. Verhulststraat. A quiet area in Amsterdam-Zuid. Our furniture from the garage in The Hague was moved in, including the piano. It happened to be a most welcome fall-back address in time to come! As for me, my weeks at the Straatsma's had come to an end. To my surprise I met up with Fred again at my next address. We were both delighted and hugged each other like long lost friends. A pity that I could only stay there for a week. Fred appeared extremely happy living with the family Landrok and not having children of their own they, in turn, had really taken to him. They formed a cheerful trio. I am sure I was jealous and felt left out. They could handle Fred, but not me. I was mixed up and unsettled, even dramatically threatening with suicide if the war had not ended in three weeks. A week later Willy came to collect me. They were pleased to see me go!
KOOTWIJKERBROEK
Ds. Straatsma had kindly organised for me to live with two of his lady friends, who, years ago, had been his confirmation candidates and they had kept in touch with each other ever since. At last Willy and I had caught the train to Barneveld. For most of the way armed German soldiers were getting on and off, which made me feel nervous.
Willy had not been able to give me any more answers to the numerous questions I put to her during our long journey, bar telling me that I was going to stay at a farm. This could turn out to be rather like one of our family holidays, except that I would be there by myself. I was excited and apprehensive at the same time!
We were the only passengers leaving the station, where we met the two ladies waving at us from an open horse-drawn carriage, the only available transport. Buses and taxis had stopped running already quite some time ago.
We soon left Barneveld behind and were driving into the open countryside ef the Veluwe, one of Holland's beauty spots. The unobstructed view was such a contrast with a city, like The Hague. We passed large pinewoods, acres of purple heather and yellow cornfields which, in those days, were mingled with red poppies and blue cornflowers. Now and then we came across a village with their small houses or huge villa's.
The regular rhythm of the horse's hoofs was the only distinctive sound. Whilst Willy held an animated conversation, I sat quietly in a corner clutching my small suitcase. From time to time I dared to glance at the two middle-aged women and wondered what they would be like and what would be in store for me.
Ursula had been a nurse and Rita a teacher. After they had both retired early, they decided to buy and run this remote smallholding in Kootwijkerbroek. It was a typical, traditional farm with a thatched roof. The green, wooden shutters on the outside of the tall windows were always being closed at nightfall.
The living room was massive with two huge open fireplaces at either end. noticed a large side of smoked bacon hanging up in one of the chimneys. Even the grand piano did not appear to fill much space at all.
Ursula and Rita shared a bedroom with a four-posted bed each, draped in clouds of organza. In a corner of the room was a shower-cubicle, but not for me to use. I can't actually remember ever having had a bath as such. It merely amounted to a strip wash in the large, tiled washroom, which was a part of the barn. My bedroom, under the rafters, was small but comfortable and I was able to see the stars at night through the skylight, which made me feel happy and secure. The barn formed an integral part of the house and was joined up by the same roof. A door through the hall gave access to the animals there. Our brown, blazed horse, called Vos, had already been put back into his stable again and was tugging at the hay from a rack above his head. The jet-black horse next to him appeared to be a less friendly one. They were facing the two Frisian dairy-cows at the opposite side of the threshing-floor.
Fortunately, we had used the inside door into the barn. No way would Willy or I have dared to enter from the outside through those enormous barn-doors, guarded by five huge dogs on long chains, which gave them plenty of scope to move about. Normally they would be in their baskets, but if anybody came near, even Ursula or Rita, they would jump up and bark ferociously. Willy and I were not keen! The most affable one of the dogs was a St. Bernard with his drooling face and at least twice my size.
Outside we spotted many farm-cats and an abundance of chickens roaming about freely, not paying any attention to anybody. The geese waddled away under loud protest. Maybe somehow, they knew that they were being fattened up for the Christmas dinner!
It seemed an ideal place for me to stay and Willy was relieved that she did not have to worry about my lodgings anymore. The following day we took her back to the station with the black horse. He was much faster than Vos and because I started to scream, he bolted. It was a scary moment, therefore, on the way back I was handed the reins to show me that there was really no need to be afraid of him. Just before Willy departed, Ursula had suggested bringing more clothes next time and they would write to her regularly to keep her informed -about me. As neither of them ever went near shops, they had no idea that nothing was obtainable anymore. Willy was going to receive many letters with complaints about my clothes or the money. It was never enough. Luckily, my father's firm kept paying him his salary throughout the war years and had to honour the ladies' requests. What else could he have done? In his situation he was at their mercy. I soon settled into the routine of farm-life. Rita and Ursula took care of everything themselves with no help, except for harvesting and sowing, when neighbouring farmers helped each other. I quite liked to be treated as an equal and I was soon turning into a useful farm-hand. Milking the cows I found too difficult, but I could churn the butter and this became my job, which suited me fine, because I could do this sitting next to the fire. The only other warm place was the kitchen. I must say, both ladies were very good cooks. The three of us always took a break after lunch. Two big wooden crates covered with a mattress made up my midday bed in an alcove, off the living room. I had seen the mill around the corner was in action, so I wandered up to it. The miller and his wife were pleased to see me and asked me in. They showed me how a corn-mill worked. However, I was more interested in their seven children and I promised to call in again soon.
Rita had other ideas. For some reason she disapproved of my visit to them. She had suddenly decided that I should not miss out on my education. Since there was less work to be done on the farm at this time of the year, my lessons were scheduled for the morning and Rita would be able to do the marking during our rest period after lunch. Little did she know I could hear her every comment to Ursula! Each spelling mistake had to be corrected and written out again ten times. Not funny when, one day, she counted 117 of them! It made me stay in bed a lot longer to avoid her punishment, but at least it taught me to be more accurate. How I hated the lessons from now on, as well as being prevented to play with the miller's kids, because of lack of time.
There were so many jobs for me to do, that I was not given a chance to be lonely. I loved to help with grooming the horses and feeding the animals- even the grunting pig in the other big barn, which also held the two carriages. The fallen apples in the orchard had to be gathered and prepared, by slicing and stringing up, to be dried. Every Friday the gravel around the farm had to be raked, making my arms ache! My shoes were useless for this type of life. I had to wear wooden clogs instead, for which Ursula had kindly made me a pair of soft, velvet insteps and told me to line the clogs with hay when my feet were sore or cold. That helped, when I had to make the long trek to the only available, small shop. Although the farm was self-sufficient, certain items had to be bought.
I was totally unprepared for the day the butcher arrived. The pig was dragged out of his pen onto a table near the barn. He squealed whilst hot water was being poured over him, to soften the hairs to make shaving them off easier. This, I could not bear! I fled upstairs into my bed and put my pillow on my head to drown the noise. Very much later, when I eventually ventured to go downstairs, I found the pig hanging, splayed, on a ladder in the hall. I screamed! They laughed! On the floor, at the bottom of the ladder were several bowls containing the insides, marked with the inspector's purple stamps of approval. I found the whole scene revolting and I did my utmost to avoid the hall. This side of farming was not for me. Neither was the digging up of sugar-beets with a fork in the evenings. There was still a small area to be done, before the frost arrived and the ground would become too hard.
When it was dark, Jan would turn up to help. I had never seen him before. He was a student in hiding, who lived in a hollowed-out hay-stack in the farm-yard. A man of few words and did not appear to be very happy. With clear skies and by moon light we were like shadows in a spooky story! Willy had made a special effort to arrive the day before my birthday, to be with me on the actual day. She was amazed to see how I had grown in all directions in such a relatively short time, an obvious result of a healthy life. No wonder, the ladies had complained about my clothes being too tight. Willy's present to me was a book, as well as two new dresses. One, dark blue, inserted with knitted red and white stripes, the other was a 'two made into one'. I don't know how she had found the time for it. Anyway, they fitted and I liked them. Rita was not over impressed. Ursula's opinion was kinder.
The next day Willy had to leave before I got up, in case I would be upset! This was worse and I cried for days. They had done this once before with my father. One night I had been in the wash-room, when I saw a light approaching through the half round stable window. My heart stopped, but it happened .to be my father on his bike, delivering a rush mat they said they needed. I had to go to bed soon after, and by the morning he had already left. That, I found difficult to forgive.
We were having great problems with mice, which had to be solved before it got even worse than it was already. They had entered the house, scurrying across the floors and having a feast in the pantries. As the cats were unable to cope with that number, a mouse hunt was organised. A fair amount of sheaves of corn was stored above the stables, under the rafters.
Rita and Ursula clambered up a rickety ladder to throw it all down onto the threshing-floor. They discovered that it was infested with nests. I had been given a clog in each hand and my task was to kill as many as I could. The dogs went berserk when hundreds of mice scattered all over the place and all the while I stood, petrified, with my arms raised. When finally the exhausted ladies came down, they could have gladly throttled me for not killing a single mouse!
It would soon be Christmas and the preparations were in full swing. It had been tradition that Ds. Straatsma and his wife would come to stay for those days with Rita and Ursula. The living room was already decorated and looked a picture, with a big tree in the middle and lots of branches around the fire-places. It was all very cheerful, especially with the candles, which had been bought and put away when they were still available, some years ago. We had a lovely time together and I felt quite happy. It helped that I knew them. The dinner was indeed a goose, stuffed with dried apples. Not my taste! Ds. Straatsma played the grand piano for hours on end and I thoroughly enjoyed the music. As I was not allowed, and the ladies could not play, this was the only time it was being used. Not long after the New Year, Ursula developed a brain tumour and two of the miller's children had diphtheria, so the mill had been put in quarantine. Apart from the running of the farm, Rita had to cope with nursing Ursula and revealed a warm-hearted side of herself that I had failed to detect before. Ursula, though in constant pain, was more affectionate towards me than ever. Looking back, I think that Ursula had been dominated by Rita in many respects. In the meantime, arrangements had been made for me to move to Van Reemst's big egg-farm in Barneveld. The presence of soldiers in town reminded me that it was war time, of which there had been so little evidence in Kootwijkerbroek.
This farm was huge and possibly the biggest in the area. I was fascinated by the incubator with the many trays, each filled with hundreds of eggs, and sometimes I was lucky enough to witness the cracking of a shell. The chicks were then sold off, but how did he get the eggs? How come, there were none in the shops? He also kept pigs, lots of them! It did not take long to find me near their pens. I would far rather be doing something on the farm, than facing the two teenage daughters who totally ignored me. The farm-hands were more than willing to teach me how to help a sow, when she was about to drop her litter of piglets. They did their best to keep me busy.
When an alarm went off, many of the farm-hands disappeared into thin air. This happened again one afternoon, but this time German soldiers were wandering in. They poked their bayonets into the (hollowed-out) hay-stacks, where I knew some of the farm-hands were hiding. The soldiers left, satisfied. I didn't dare look up, in case they had noticed how scared I was!
The last unfortunate incident had been spreading liquid stable- manure onto the fields. A horse pulled a square box filled to the brim, when a wheel found a hole. I lost my balance, and got a ducking! The water from of the pump outside was freezing cold. I stank for days after! This address was not the right place for me, after all, and also far too expensive. When the train stopped in Kampen, uncle Ab was at the station and greeted me with a big smile. Suddenly I realised how I had missed being hugged!
It was almost like living at home again and be able to enjoy all the things young girls like to do. It was a real privilege, when aunt Kitty fetched me her two precious dolls with a box of clothes for them. They were beauties, with real, long hair and eyes that could close. Henny, who lived a few doors away; adored dolls and we spent many happy hours playing together. Her father had a bakery and, needless to say, I went often to her house, tempted by the wafting smell of baking. Riki, also my age, was the girl next door. Her mother was a widow and made the hats she sold in her shop. We were allowed to make our own creations from the scraps. The three of us had hilarious times together. What a marked contrast between this and delivering a sow! Margreet, my cousin, was a lovely one-year-old and I found it great fun to help my aunt with taking care of her, especially at bath time. She smiled readily.
Kampen was the old town near the mouth of the Yssel that had belonged to the medieval Hanseatic League, a pact which promoted European trade. Uncle Ab often tried to find time to take me on walks along the river and, like my father, he always pointed out something of interest, whether it was shoeing horses or, on this particular day, taking me up the church tower. Every day, at noon, a tune was being played on the carillion. It was surprising that the bells were still there. The chimer showed me that it was similar to playing a piano, except that you had to hit the keys with a fist. He encouraged me to try and indicated the keys I should press. I was thrilled to hear my notes resounding across the town!
Uncle Ab was always singing and you couldn't help but joining in. He had a beautiful tenor voice. I heard him singing duets with a contralto, who had been his teacher and friend for many years. I could have listened for hours-. Since nobody could possibly predict how long the war was going to last, I could not remain here for however long that might be. We were all upset when I left and I was given the promise that I would be more than welcome to return, after the two months' visit of aunt Kitty's mother.
Where next? For a few days to our rented room in Amsterdam! My mother and Hans were staying here for a while with my father. This was like a dream come true! We had riot seen each other, since we had left our home in The Hague, many months ago. No words could describe my happiness! Hans had grown a bit and was chatting all day long. He had a sense of humour and could burst out laughing over little things. My parents seemed happier too. They avoided to travel together, so when my father had to go Heilo to see Opa, I begged him if I could come along. In a way I'd wished, I hadn’t.
Opa and Trijn, just released from being interrogated again, were very upset, because Frits had been taken away by the Gestapo. He had been in the garden when they came to pick him up, in broad daylight. Though I had not been able to follow much of their conversation, I gathered that it was a serious matter. My father was very quiet during the journey back to Amsterdam.
Years later we were to hear more about the details. Willy had cycled up to Heilo to warn Opa about a rumour that an eye was being kept on his house and to suggest taking Frits to the nearby cloister. It could not have been easy, especially for Trijn, a one-time matron, or for a man like Opa, to follow advice from a self-assured girl of nineteen, but they agreed to send him there the following day, unaware of how close the enemy was. Although his whereabouts were known (Westerbork), efforts to rescue him failed. His final destination was Auschwitz; a four-year old and all alone.... Who betrayed him has never been found out.
The reality of war had, once again, left its indelible mark on many people.
ZEIST
Once again, I was put on the carrier of Willy's bike to yet another destination. was going to meet a surprise, she said, as long as I didn't ask any questions.
To make the ride more comfortable, I had a little cushion to sit on and I could put my feet on the foot-props. Willy's back provided me with some shelter, but also restricted my front-view. With my hands firmly tucked into her waistband, my arms followed her swaying body pushing hard against the wind. Of course, we had stopped a few times on the way, but I was very glad when this long journey of about sixty km, from Amsterdam to De Bilt had come to an end. She put her bike against a high wall and opened a gate which led into the garden of a white-washed house. I was sure she had been here before! What a surprise! Mrs. Arks, the mother, came to meet us followed by her two sons and Wim!! Wim had heard about my predicament and through contacts with local friends, he knew about a children's home in Zeist that might be just the place for me. He had asked them to make the arrangements. It was only about ten km away and the knowledge that he, Wim, was close by would certainly help me to settle. lt was obvious that Willy and Wim, as well as my father, had been in regular contact with each other. Zeist was a residential town on the edge of an extensive wooded part of Holland. The Slotlaan, the main avenue, finished at the gates of 'Het Slot', a historic castle, which was occupied by the Germans and guarded by armed sentries. On either side of the Slotlaan, just before getting to the castle-grounds, were two big squares. One was called Sister-square, where the church, the school and the homes were for the retired missionaries. The Kinderheim was opposite this, on Brother-square. Both were looked after by the Hernhutters'community. Zeist was the centre of the Hernhutters, a Christian sect, which had its origin in Bohemia and was, above all, noted for their missionary work, mainly in Africa.
Willy and I were welcomed in the main room of this multi-storey house, where a few small children were playing on the floor. Surely, these were not all of them? Before Willy had to leave, Sister Han (Stan) and sister Tine (Stine) gave us a guided tour through the house. Stan, grey-haired and slim, seemed the friendlier of the two and was in charge. Stine was the complete opposite, with dark, short, hair, well-built and robust. She took us first to the kitchen and the dining-room in the basement, which was no surprise as she was the cook, at the same time explaining the high cleaning standards she demanded from the group of children who were delegated to this job. "You will find out soon enough, how we work here together as a team", Stan added. Hearing the noise from the rest of the children who had just come home, we went upstairs to meet them. This was the moment when Willy decided that it was time for her to leave. Besides, Wim had asked her to call in and see him again on her way back to Amsterdam. After all, his knowledge about the home had been 'hearsay' from other people, therefore he insisted on getting a first-hand opinion from Willy.
I kept on waving, even after she had disappeared out of sight. I had never felt so lonely and deserted. Maybe the idea of a children's home created a sense of vulnerability in me? One of the reasons for the sporadic contacts with the family had been due to the distances between us. At least Wim was living nearby and, although he was in hiding and restricted in his movements, he could see the same clouds in the sky as I did, which was a comforting thought whenever I was upset.
How I yearned for the war to end! Stan took me by the hand and opened the door of the large living-room. The noise changed abruptly into a deadly hush. Many pairs of eyes were looking at me in surprise - apparently new-comers were rare! After Stan had introduced me, everybody started to talk at once and bombarded me with questions. Firstly, they were interested, (or worried) which bed I would sleep in. Asking about families was discouraged, which pleased me. They were mostly children whose parents were missionaries abroad and contacts were broken off, because of the war.
There were only four young boys and twelve girls of various ages, of whom Elly, the eldest at seventeen, had the same authority as the assistants, Mia, Dini and Nell. I felt bewildered and had not much to say. In fact, we were weighing each other up, but when they noticed how horrified I looked when they mentioned school, I met with their sympathy! School! Nobody had even hinted at that possibility! Fortunately it was holiday time, thus I could concentrate on the house-rules first. I shared a dormitory with four, rather nice, girls, who showed me how I had to fold my clothes at bedtime. I was exhausted and could easily have stayed in bed, when the gong woke us at 7 a.m. the following morning. The order of the day went according to a strict, almost military, regime. We had to strip to the waist and wash the top-half with cold water and then queue up to be checked that you were wet all over, before you were allowed to dry yourself. After you had made your bed, making sure no wrinkles were showing, you were sent down stairs. One by one we entered the dining room and when all of us were present, we could start our breakfast, a slice of bread with a glass of milk. Everybody was given a daily task. Those in charge of the basement stayed behind, while the rest of us spread out to different parts of the house carrying brooms, buckets and dusters.
I had to help with cleaning the basins and the toilets, the least fancied job of all! The rota changed every two weeks. A close eye was being kept on the one who excelled and, as a result, was then rewarded with privileged jobs, one of which was the honour to clean the rooms of the staff. In the course of time, I actually managed the top job: making Stan's bed! Holiday or not, everything had to be finished by 8.45 to fit in with school hours.
On Sundays we all went to the church on Sister Square, a white building with a very plain white interior, not even stained-glass windows for me to look at.
All the women sat together, wearing a lace cap (Haube) tied under the chin with a ribbon. Ours being pink, like all the un-married, blue for the married and white was worn by the widows. The service was held entirely in German of which I didn't understand a word. I always loved the singing, but only a few tunes were familiar to me and, because I could not read German, I was bored and glad to be outside again. A group of local children were passing by and stopped to watch us on our way home, intrigued, because to them we seemed to be a weird lot. They never missed an opportunity to quiz us about what went on in the home. Whenever we played outside, you could be sure some of them would try and join in. We were warned, no threatened, not to divulge anything, not even a simple question about what we ate for dinner. On the whole they were not too bad, except that the boys could be very cruel
to the frogs they found in great number on the square. One of the reasons we didn't want much to do with them.
I had been fully accepted by our girls, who were excellent at inventing games, which helped when we were supposed to play outside between 2 and 4 in the afternoons, whatever the weather. Nell was always busy with washing and ironing, but Mia and Dini took us on regular walks to the woods instead, where we were able to roam freely amongst the trees, where we could shout as loudly as we wanted and run about like wild animals. Mia always tolerated our behaviour with a smile. She gladly shared her extensive knowledge of edible mushrooms with us, which we picked and then enjoyed them at meal- time. We also collected plenty of dry sticks to keep the cooker in the kitchen going.
During the evenings we would assemble in the living room, for reading, games or needle-work, like mending. No noise, of course, and early to bed!
I had a cautious respect for Stan, but I was afraid of Stine, who looked fierce and easily lost her temper. She had a cast in her eye and you never knew, if it was you she was looking at. One day, during breakfast, Henk, one of the small boys she often picked on, irritated her for some reason. She grabbed the biscuit tin and kept on hitting him on his-head with it. Nobody moved a muscle, not even Stan. We were stunned. To relieve the tension, we were taken up into the loft to choose clothes for the new season. Excitedly, we rummaged through the enormous trunks filled with dresses of all sizes, hoping the chosen one would fit. I managed to claim the dress I liked, particularly for the half-round, green apron that went with it. All the clothes had been donated by charities and few dresses were the same. It was less difficult for the boys to make a choice, because they wore mostly sailor-suits and there were plenty available. Happily clutching our new outfits, we lined up to go down the narrow ladder. The attic was out of bounds, except for occasions like these. I had a good look around and was not only amazed at the size of it, but above all impressed with the vast quantity of stored food. Besides sacks of potatoes, apples and lentils, I saw sugar, jams and honey. At least we would not have to starve! Funnily enough, the food was never mentioned. Neither was the war. By now it was the beginning of June 1944. Although I could not put my finger on it, I noticed that something was afoot. Even the people seemed different.
Recently, the activities of the Germans had increased and huge convoys were often on the move. There were also far more Spitfires about than ever before. One day, a number of trucks with armed soldiers passed us on our walk, being pursued by two Spitfires. They flew so low that we could see the pilot's face. The Germans abandoned their vehicles in a frantic hurry and jumped into the ditch, close to the bank. They stood all in a line, up to their necks in water, with just their helmets visible. If it had not been for the shooting, which frightened us, we would have laughed! We loved to see the Germans being scared off by the 'English Tommies'.
Nobody really knew much about the occupants of the castle, except that they were Germans. Who lived there and why? Was there more to it than that? It came as no surprise that the castle had been made a target. When the siren went, we all fled into the basement. The home shook and the flashes were blinding. Some of our windows upstairs were shattered and left the floors covered in glass. After the 'all clear' we had to wait until everything had been cleaned up before we could go back to bed, still shivering with a mixture of fear and being cold. The castle had received little damage and was quickly restored. Unfortunately, it was not possible for us to obtain glass for our windows!
AMSTERDAM '44/'45
The winter had made its entree with a vengeance and much earlier than usual. When I woke up I noticed the inside of the windows covered with patterns of pretty frost-flowers, which meant that it was bitterly cold outside. Willy had come to Vreeland to take me to Amsterdam. We would definitely have travelled by train, if they had still been running. Neither Willy nor I was looking forward to a journey by bike in this weather and hopefully this would be my last long jaunt on the back of one. The Mulders were quite concerned. After hugs all around, they double-checked that I was well covered up with even my head wrapped in a scarf, leaving just a slit for my eyes. My hands and feet felt like blocks of ice when, after several hours, we finally arrived at Willy's rented room in the Johannes Verhulststraat, where I was going to be with my mother and Hans.
Willy was cold and tired and decided to go straight home to the Uitweg, to Aunt Elisabeth's home, where she was staying at present. It was also the only safe place to keep the bike and besides, she had to be in before the curfew.
I had been here only once before on a very short visit. All I remembered was that the Joh. Verhulststraat had a long row of beautiful big trees in the middle of a wide road. I was overjoyed to be re-united with the family and I couldn't wait to run up the stone steps. Mr. and Mrs. Stoffels had already seen us and opened the front door before I had a chance to ring the bell. I dashed up the stairs to our room at the back on the second floor to surprise my mother and Hans. I was home! We had a lot to talk about, but once I had warmed up it didn't take me long to fall asleep in one of our own beds. Whatever the outside world, this room with its familiar furniture was our sanctuary! The Stoffels, who owned this old multi-storey house, lived on the first floor. All the other rooms were let, including the basement. Once or twice, we passed the occupants of the front room, but we never saw the others. Our room looked out on the large back gardens of the houses around us and where, at regular intervals, a tree was being chopped down for fire-wood. Since the 9th of October, North-Holland had been the first province without electricity and a few days later the gas was disconnected too. People had to resort to emergency stoves. Ours was a majo, which looked like a large coffee tin with a small opening to draw the draught and it would only burn very small pieces of dry wood. It was placed on the original stove for safety. My mother never got the hang of it and would rather leave it to my father. It was quite an art. It needed continual blowing into the vent to keep it alight. However, since the rations had been reduced drastically and the food became so scarce, there was little use for the majo, except for boiling water.
A few weeks later I was well enough to join the family in Amsterdam. Except for Wim, we all lived near to each other again.
It was not until after the war when we heard about the raid on the cottage in de Silt, where Wim lived. It had been surrounded by the SS., but Wim was lucky to have been able to escape through the toilet window into a corn-field behind the house. Among the arrested were his friends, the boys Arks. So far, Holland had endured the occupation for well over four years. After the Battle of Britain, the Germans had focussed their attention on Eastern Europe, having given up on England for the time being. When and where were they going to stop? That was the question.
The Germans controlled the news-papers and their successes made big head lines and were also blurted out on the radio. To them it was a morale-booster; to the Dutch it was worrying. The Resistance had issued _and circulated two illegal news papers, Trouw and Parool, in order to report a more honest and realistic version of events. Printing and even delivering the papers was a dangerous undertaking. Also the BBC news was indispensable and was received secretly by a hidden and often cleverly-concealed radio. Both, the papers and the BBC, were vital contributions to reassure the nation and give them hope. The German news never reported their defeats and certainly said nothing about the successes of the Allies who, we hoped, were on their way to help us.
After North-Africa and southern Europe, came Normandy on June 6th.'44. Although still a long way away, the liberation of Western Europe had begun. First Paris, followed by Brussels and finally, by September 3rd, the southern part of Holland was free. The Germans seemed defeated and fled north. There was such a quick succession of events that the news was scanty and · even the BBC got confused. In Rotterdam it was mentioned that Breda had been liberated and the people in The Hague were waiting for the arrival of the British troops. The whole of the population was deliriously happy. Even the Dutch flag appeared in places, which was strictly forbidden. The Germans and NSB members loaded their (stolen) cars and bikes and fled towards Germany. Alas, the rumours turned out to be false! Therefore, September 5th became known as Dolle Dinsdag! (Mad Tuesday)
There were obstacles. Crossing the bridges over the river Rhine proved impossible. The advance had to be halted, giving the Germans the opportunity to tighten their grip on the north of Holland. At last, I understood the reason why the evacuees had come to Zeist! The trains stopped running on September 15th. The Dutch Government in London had advised the railway-personnel to strike and to go into hiding, but not before putting the trains out of action first.
In retaliation, the Germans stopped all alternative food-transport. Consequently, the west of Holland, north of the big rivers, was facing the last winter of the war under the worst circumstances imaginable! We braced ourselves for this period in Amsterdam.
Usually we could find one who pitied us and donated about half a litre. Not much, but as long as we collected enough for the baby! We always tried several farms for more milk for ourselves as well, often without much luck. Whilst on one of my rounds, it was snowing hard with that horrible pack-snow, which quickly stuck to our clogs. When we hobbled past the castle, the guard on duty offered to remove the snow with his bayonet and even gave us a biscuit! If only we had not mentioned it to anybody when we got home, we would not have had that spanking!
How we all loathed having to play outside every day, even in cold weather. If only there had been some snow, we could have built snow-men; otherwise there was little else for us to do. Hans, in particular, suffered in his thin summer-coat. He also complained about his feet hurting and, for that reason, he could only wear Wellingtons and thin socks. We sympathised with him. Most of us suffered with painful chilblains, which were treated by putting our toes into a chamber-pot with (our own) freshly-produced urine! One day, when Hans could not possibly face being outside again, he decided to hide. He thought he'd be better off in the loo instead.
He almost got away with it, if it had not been for one of the boys who told on him. Hans had to pay dearly for this! It must have been agony for him to be sent out immediately, on his own, and walk around the square for an hour. He looked so lost! How I hated the kids that were laughing at him from behind the window. It was dark when he came back in and yet again I was prevented to console him.
It was towards the end of 1944 when my mother paid us a surprise visit, still wearing her terracotta dress! She had cycled all the way from Amsterdam on her bike without the tyres, one way of preventing the Germans to confiscate it. The first thing Hans did was to show my mother his feet. She was horrified. The staff tried to assure her that 'all will be better by the time spring is here'. My mother was being put up for the night in the attic, but her mind was already made up, whatever the consequences. The staff was furious when, the next morning, she told them that she was taking Hans away with her. They informed her that, in that case, I must leave too. My life was made far from easy during the weeks I had to wait for Willy to collect me. Meantime, a solution had to be found at short notice for Hans and myself. On their way back to Amsterdam, my mother stopped in the Bilt to call on Wim who, after seeing Hans' feet, asked Mrs. Arks to arrange an appointment with the doctor. He diagnosed frost-bite and advised that, on no account, was Hans to walk on them and to seek medical advice as soon as they got home. I was counting the days for Willy to arrive to take me to wherever. Anywhere would be better than here! I was desperately unhappy since Hans had left.
Half-way, between Zeist and Amsterdam, was Vreeland. The initial address my father had stayed at was always available to be used as an occasional hide-out for either Willy or my parents. Now it was my turn to be there. Mr. and Mrs. Mulder made me feel at home straight away. I was pleased with the warm house and to see their large, well-stocked kitchen-garden. However, I was under-nourished to such an extent, that I was only allowed to eat a little and often, a table-spoonful to start with. Gradually the portions were increased to normal amounts. The house was next door to a farm and I soon got to know the farmer's wife, who was well-built and cheerful. I enjoyed feeding the animals for her. She was determined to play her part in my recovery and suggested that I should come every morning to be fattened up with proper cream, as long as I didn't tell the Mulders! Anyway, it had no ill-effects and I have loved cream ever since...
We were getting worried about the reduction of our food-rations. The next few weeks would be the ideal time for harvesting the produce a forest can provide. To supplement our rations we made daily treks, carrying an array of containers, as well as pulling a cart to transport the wood. The youngest ones loved having a ride in it on the way there; otherwise the journey would surely have been too tiring for them.
It proved to be a good year for mushrooms and we collected baskets full of different kinds, thanks to Mia. Berries were plentiful and were squeezed and then sieved. If sugar had been available the juice would have tasted nicer. We spread the pulp on our dry slice of grey bread, which made a change from the usual tomato ketchup.
One day, when the weather was unsuitable for the woods, we had to make do with playing on the square. We had discovered an orchard covered with fallen apples and we stuffed, as many as we could, under. our clothes and hid them when we got home. Would you believe it! The owner came to complain about his loss and the police was called in. If it were ever to happen again, we would go to prison!
For punishment I lost my privileged job of making Stan's bed and got transferred to cleaning the dining-room on my own for at least a month. Placed on top of a small stool, in a recess of one of the walls, was the dog's feeding-bowl. Later on, when I really started to feel very hungry, I could not resist the temptation. His food was much better than ours. I licked some of it like a dog, so it could not be detected. Where did the potatoes and the beans come from? Or could it have been the leftovers from a staff's dinner, after we had gone to bed? Nobody seemed to pay much attention to the dog's food and I had learned to keep my mouth shut. When we had gone up into the attic again for warmer clothes, it was noticed that a lot of the stored food had disappeared and somebody commented on it. The 'hungry' evacuees were blamed.... The branches were arched by the weight of the heavy crop of elderberries and feeling hungry, we promptly took the opportunity to eat them there and then.
We never found out, if it had been the berries, or indeed an outbreak of the widespread dysentery why we were so ill and many of us, including Hans, had ended up in the sick-room. The doctor prescribed Norit, a dry, black powder, three times a day a tablespoon, washed down with water. It made us choke! How on earth could they have been so cruel to Hans, who had accidentally soiled his bed, to make him wash his sheets in the sink with that icy-cold water! I tried to help him, which was refused and I was sent back to bed. They told me that he had to be taught a lesson! The winter had arrived and with no central heating in those days, you often felt inside as cold as being outside, especially upstairs with make-do windows. We all felt sorry for the latest arrival, a small baby that cried all day long. This presented a big problem. She needed milk and there wasn't any! We had all gathered in the living room to see who could come up with an idea how to obtain milk. We loved being involved. The solution was quite simple really and by asking us, they could bank on our full cooperation. It was pointed out that it was not just a project for a week or so, but maybe for months of going daily to the nearby farms.
We all agreed and for everybody older than 11; a rota was drawn up for groups of two. That worked out at about once a week. This meant getting up at 5 a.m. to arrive at the farms at milking-time. Though some of the farmers refused.
Back home again from our frequent walks to the woods, I was told to report to the office to see Stan. This sounded so formal, that everybody wondered what it could be about. Usually messages were given in passing. To be called to the office was only for serious matters. With a heavy heart I knocked on the door. Stan was sitting behind her desk and told me to take a seat. She informed me that my father was coming to visit me, together with my mother and Hans! I could not believe my ears. Stan had a lot more to add, but I did not listen to the rest. All I heard was that Hans was coming to stay here, with me. Then she mentioned something about responsibility and though he was my little brother, I should not pamper him, etc. l could not care less about that. I was too delighted! Hans had great difficulty in accepting his and my parents' new surname of Swaagman. Therefore, it was considered the best option for all concerned that Hans should join me in this relatively safe environment.
My mother and Hans had never been apart for longer than a day. Now she had to leave him behind and nobody could predict for how long. On their homeward journey my father had planned a big surprise for my mother. Ever since Wim had left, in 1942, she assumed that he was still in Germany. I can't begin to imagine, how
my mother must have felt when she finally met up with Wim again, that he was alive, that she could touch him! Wim, also very happy, smiled at my father while hugging my mother. At last, she was let into the secret of his whereabouts. It did not lessen her anxiety, but this was better than Germany. Hans was not quite five years old. He looked so helpless after our parents had left. The first few days I was allowed to be protective towards him, but all too soon I was given silly tasks to do, in order to make Hans less dependent on me and force him to find his own way.
Regular testing for 'immediate obedience' was one of the priorities. At the most inconvenient times an order would be given and you'd better not hesitate! It was supposed to be for our own safety - it was war after all. Poor Hans. He was in trouble! He would always do as he was told, but, alas, not quickly enough to their liking. Whenever I tried to defend him, I got a severe telling-off. That made me very unhappy. AU in all Hans and I were able to visit Wim twice during our stay in Zeist and since we had so much fun with him, it never entered our heads to talk about the home.
September 1944. We were not informed about what was happening in the outside world, we could but observe. We noticed the night flying of heavy bombers high overhead. We heard that the trains had stopped running altogether and that evacuees were being put up regularly for the night in the attic, but not where they came from or were heading for.
The school had already been reduced to only two days a week for quite some time and since the bombardment also caused damage to the school-building and the summer holidays were not far off, the decision was taken to close. Anyway, I don't think the few weeks I attended the lessons added much to my education. We were being taught by the old missionaries in small classes of about five or six pupils, hence no chance to step out of line. Maybe that is the reason why the only thing I remember is a prank. The teacher had mentioned her fear of frogs; therefore, one of the girls released one in the class-room to try her out. The teacher screamed and jumped onto a chair. The girl realized her stupidity and although she was sorry, she got expelled. Soon afterwards we were all at home, because our school was being closed for good!
The room in the Johannes Verhulststraat was mainly used by Willy or my parents for an occasional break. As a rule, they all lived together at Aunt Elisabeth's and as from now, I was going to stay there as well. It was a long way, much too far for Hans, whose feet had not quite healed up yet, so my father decided to collect him. With each trip you always ran the risk that your bike might be confiscated, especially in the city, but Hans' feet could give him a valid excuse, in case he was being stopped. Besides, a bike without tyres was less in demand.
Not so long ago, the city-tram would have taken us as far as Sloterdijk, a small village on the fringe of Amsterdam-West, but since the electricity cut and people making off with the sleepers for fuel, no more trams meant that my mother and I had to go on foot. Fortunately we were good walkers. We had so much to talk about on the way that I was not aware of either distance or time. My mother told me that Annamie was back - I didn't know she had been away! My aunt thought, her daughter would get better fed if she went to stay with an uncle in Bergen, but she was home-sick and had returned a week later. Good, otherwise I would have been without her company. We were about the same age and we got on very well together. I heard about their fun on St. Nicholas' Eve, albeit without the usual goodies. Nothing could possibly have broken the tradition of writing poems, even without any presents. However, there was a surprise! A bunch of carrots each! A pity, I had missed all this, as I was still in Vreeland.
Before I realized, we had reached Sloterdijk and the end of the built-up area. My heart sank!! Ahead of us was an enormous expanse of sky, right down to the horizon, covering a never-ending, flat landscape of empty fields and a few isolated farms! How much further? Where was the house? We kept following the main road alongside the Haarlemmer Trekvaart, the oldest canal in Holland, until we came to a windmill where we turned left into a narrow road, appropriately called, the Uitweg (the Road to Nowhere).
At last we could see the house, about another half a mile away. Before the schools closed down, my cousins had to walk this distance every day in all weathers. I could not believe that it took them only half an hour.
It was the only house in the Uitweg, standing all by itself. The nearest neighbour was a farm a bit up the road. We crossed the hump-bridge, past the large willow-tree by the side of it, towards the front door. It was a big place. It had to be, because we were now with thirteen! Five of us, five of Aunt Elisabeth's and three more 'lodgers'. I knew about John, Fred's brother, age-wise between Hans and Wim, my other cousin. On the way my mother had told me about tante Hans, who apparently was an excellent cook and old Opa Johannes. And he was old! When I met him, he was fast asleep in a chair with a hanky over his thin face and a cap on his head. He was annoyed when we poked fun at him, but we resented having to be quiet for so long. I didn't know at the time that they were Jews in hiding.
There had been no point in objecting when a decree was issued to billet twelve German soldiers in the attic. After a few weeks, the men convinced their commander that the house was too over-crowded and got him to agree that the soldiers could move into the shed instead, provided they had free access to the bathroom. This was a much better arrangement under the circumstances! The family's big advantage was a 50 cm. metal pipe, the 'gas-bell', suspended in the willow tree. This indicated the presence of Germans and therefore, when a raid took place, this house was left alone. We were safe in the lion's den!
Just as well I was warned that I might suddenly bump into a soldier on the stairs or in the kitchen. The first time it happened I felt ill at ease; they carried a gun everywhere, even to the bathroom! We didn't really meet them very often.
All day and every night the continuous drone of heavy bombers on their way to Germany was a reminder of war-time. During the day we saw them coming over in large formations. (Americans by day and British by "night) Across this part of Holland they tried to fly high enough not to get within the reach of anti-aircraft guns. If a plane had been damaged during their mission and was trying to return to Britain, it wa-s an easier target fo be shot down, even using rifles! In case one crashed, Germans and Resistance alike would be on the look-out for a baled-out pilot. It was essential to get rid of his parachute first, so he stood a better chance to be rescued. At night the sky was lit up by search-beams. When an aircraft was pin-pointed inside two or more crossing beams, a strong battery came into action, but they were still flying fairly high. We had a good view from the attic-window! It was as if they played the game: Catch me, if you can!
Although without heat, we lived in a nice, big house and had plenty to do. Before all else, each day somebody had to go to the farm across the road and buy a litre of milk. I didn't like it when it was my turn, because of the rats. I was petrified of them. They scattered in all directions as soon as I opened the back door. Whenever I had to cross the bridge towards the house, I would first pick up a stone and throw it on the path along the side of the house, to make sure they had gone. I wondered if they lived in the ditches or in the shed?!
My cousins had their daily music practice. Annamie played the violin and Sep the piano, like my aunt, whose ambition it was to form a trio when, in a year's time, Wirn should be old enough to take up the cello. The teacher, who came once a week, was difficult to please and the lessons invariable ended in tears. I felt sorry for them. It was lovely when they played pieces together since we all liked hearing the sound of music.
Uncle Arie, who was in the merchant navy, liked to tinker with the radio, constantly trying to improve the reception of the receiver, which was hidden behind a switch in their bedroom. He had devised a method to supply electricity with a bicycle dynarno. When it was time for a BBC broadcast we took it in turns to pedal the (upside-down) bike, whilst the others were on the look-out to give a signal in case a German needed the bathroom.
The banister got polished so often, it could function as a mirror!
We all lived in harmony together, trying hard to avoid misunderstandings. My uncle could be very grumpy at times. By a stroke of luck, he happened to be on leave when the war broke out. He missed being at sea on his ship, but most of all he missed his tobacco. He even tried smoking dried oak-leaves! It cheered him up no end, when he and my father went scouring the neighbourhood for pieces of wood for the cooker. They enjoyed thinking up useful projects together. The low-lying garden was most unsuitable for growing vegetables, even if seeds had been available. It was quite boggy; hence the idea of peat-cutting was worth a try! It might have worked, if they had found a way of drying out the blocks, which was difficult in the middle of winter! Another time they were planning how to build a sort of kiln in the garden for baking bread, but first someone had to go out and try to get hold of some grain. The manual coffee-mill had proved to be an ideal item for grinding.
The food situation had gone from bad to worse. Most people looked gaunt and many started to die of hunger. We were not the only ones calling on farmers. They received an ever-increasing number of people asking for food and some of the farmers got fed up. Most wanted a lot of money, while others preferred goods, like linen or jewellery. You do anything when you are hungry!
So now and then Willy and Aunt Elisabeth went together and it could take them all day to cycle from one farm to the next. Each time they had to go further and further a field. They were only too happy to return with a small amount of potatoes and a little bag of grain. When my aunt started to feel unwell, uncle Arie helped out. My mother felt it as her duty to do her share and travelled as far as the farms across the big rivers. After all, they were not occupied anymore, so finding food might be a bit easier. Passing the German guards on the bridge presented no problems, they knew she would return. She managed to fill her bike's carrier-bags, but on her way back was searched by the guards and all her arduously gathered food got confiscated.
When my mother arrived home, empty-handed, she cried. Feeding a large family like ours was no easy task! Our piano in the Verhulststraat was sold to the farmer opposite. He was so pleased, that he made sure we were a little better off for milk and occasionally we got a few eggs. The milk for the soldiers was delivered every day and put on the work-top in the kitchen, a jug for each of them. It was as tempting for us as it was for the Prussian, minor aristocrat, Freiherr Von Sietzowitz. He jumped out of his skin when my aunt caught him spooning the cream from the others' jugs into his own. Only the day before, when he swept a path, had she told him that a broom was for sweeping not caressing a pretty girl! He grinned and didn't argue.
When it was bitterly cold, we would share our beds and stay there all day, draping a blanket around our shoulders. We played games or read a book. Willy took the opportunity to study for her short-hand exams. The adults would take turns to get up and make us all something to eat. The sweet and sickly smell of sugar-beets would
waft through to the upstairs.
After the horrors of Kristal! Nacht in 1938, tante Hans had fled from Nazi Germany and taken refuge with one of her relatives in Amsterdam, where she should be safe, or so she thought. When the persecution of Jews also started to take place in, meanwhile occupied, Holland, her relatives had to go into hiding and thus tante Hans ended up at aunt Elisabeth's as one of the family. We all loved this motherly, chubby lady in her 50's, who spoke Dutch with a strong German accent. She joined in with everything, but took charge of the cooking. It was remarkable what she was able to concoct with so very few provisions. Food was everybody's main topic of conversation when meeting with friends or neighbours, always happy to suggest some different ways of preparing anything from tulip-bulbs to stinging nettles. Instead of potatoes we had sugar-beets and however difficult it was to vary, either diced or mashed, they were still sugar-beets, which made poor Hans cry at every meal-time. Nobody liked to eat cattle fodder by choice, except when starving-hungry!
In the mornings everybody had to fulfil a task in Jl)e house, necessary or not. I could not see the point to polish furniture again when it had already been done the previous day, but the main purpose was to keep us busy and warm. Tante Hans
was about to hang the washing on the line, when this arrogant, young German officer - -
showed up. Only a few weeks ago he had scared everyone when he boasted that he was an expert in rounding up Jews and people in hiding. While she was pegging out the sanitary towels, he tried to be funny by asking her what they were. 'You mean, the caps for the cookery-school?' she retorted, sharply. With this, he had overstepped the mark and broken the billet's code of conduct. Being indiscreet was not tolerated and after lodging a complaint, he got posted elsewhere. We (and the soldiers) gave a sigh of relief to be rid of him at last. The rest of the others were less convinced of winning the war and behaved more amiably. They liked to talk about their families 'bei uns zu Hause' and Bauer spoke mostly of his concern about his farm's future in Bavaria, since his two sons were fighting with the army. I could not understand all they said, but when he was told that both had been killed, he cried bitterly. He threw his gun away and screamed, cursing Hitler for causing nothing but death and destruction. That needed no translation!
As daytime offered our best available light, the afternoons were the ideal opportunity for reading. It did not take tong before many were absorbed in a book and downstairs felt silent. The boys often went upstairs to play, Old Opa Johannes had his face under his hanky, as usual, and before anything else, my aunt would nod off for her regular (exactly!) twenty minutes. On one of the tables was a jigsaw puzzle, at hand all the time and whoever fancied to add a bit, could assist tante Hans, who loved to do puzzles. So did I! Just before dusk, Aunt Elisabeth would play a few piano-duets with Sep, or she played well-known songs so we could join in. Uncle Arie was good at telling, increasingly better, stories about far-away lands and his sea faring life. Fascinating! but really true?? We spent the evenings playing games by the dim light of improvised oil-lamps, a couple of water-filled jam-jars, with a wick on a layer of oil - Monopoly was the best. However, my father and Bep often plotted together to rob the bank and it was difficult to catch them out, because every game they tried a different system. It was not always as funny as it was meant to be!
Once in a while, weather permitted, we walked to the centre of Amsterdam where it was now very quiet, no more screeching of trams, fairly empty streets and the German vehicles being the only traffic. My father and my aunt knew a lot of the history and they guided us along with interesting stories about buildings and famous people, which also appealed to us younger ones. When my father noticed we were flagging a little, he would say, "One more, just around that corner." Somehow, he managed to take a route that led us on the way home. We also got more used to walking the distance to the Verhulststraat. My mother and I were spending a couple of nights there when, by chance, we met up with Willy. We knew nothing about her, her movements or what she was up to. She merely called in on her way back to the Uitweg.
Since the end of January, the Germans had to allow the ships with grain and margarine from the Swedish Red Cross to dock in Holland, the bakeries to be supplied with electricity and the bread to be distributed among the shops in the city. With our coupons, Willy and I queued for hours for one loaf. We were in luck, but many had to go home without. I insisted that I carried it! It was pure white and tasted like cake!! The same day my mother got hold of two live eels! Unfortunately, when she tried to rinse them in the basin, they wriggled, found the plug-hole and escaped! I could not stop laughing. However hungry we might have been, eels put me off. The same, when my parents and I once had a meal with friends who served up meat, an unknown luxury. Many different animals were caught for food, but a cat was too much for me to swallow!
Aunt Elisabeth fell ill. The sores on her neck and legs, of a tubercular nature, got infected, causing open ulcers. The doctor ordered her to stay in bed and have plenty of milk and butter. From her bed in the living-room she could keep a watchful eye on what was going on around her. The farmer kindly supplied some extra milk, which she churned into butter in a small churn on her lap. There was such a shortage of everything. Soap, which did not lather and we called, air-soap. Pans were scoured with sand. Ersatz coffee, which was a warm drink, if nothing else. The water had been cut back to an hour a day. We had extra, because of the German 'guests', but who would take a bath in cold water! The sewing-machine in the attic
was in constant use. Dresses were unpicked and combined to create new ones. We were growing 1n all directions and the h1ana-me-downs were exhausted. Jumpers
were unravelled and the wool was washed and wound around a plank to stretch the thread and knitted up again. Aunt Elisabeth was kept fully occupied. Shoes were another problem. First the toes were cut off the upper part, but when your big toe started to stick out too far, your own design of wooden soles with webbing across, worked fairly well. In spite of thirteen hungry people living with fear and being deprived of so many essentials, as well as a war that did not seem to come to an end, we continued to live happily together. We learnt to be tolerant and to have a sense of humour. Since hunger had turned into starvation, a state of emergency had been declared. Something needed to be done soon! We tried our hardest to remain optimistic. It was almost April. At least the weather was improving and there were days we could go outside to play. Annamie and I would lay a purse in the middle of the road, attached to a thin thread and hide in the long grass. The moment somebody tried to pick it up, we pulled the string. It produced many laughs! We also tried out home-made nets on pond-dipping in the ditches.
-My father started to complain about stomach pains and when the colour drained from his face, we knew it really hurt and he should see a doctor. Who could be trusted enough to register with? Having a price on his head, he thought it too risky and decided to retreat to the Verhulststraat instead, where he took to his bed. I went along to help my mother. One day when she couldn't get the majo to work, my father crawled across the floor to help her. I was worried and talked to Mrs. Stoffels. She persuaded him to see her doctor, 'who is one of us'. He was kind and when he said, 'I have my own private clinic and I'll admit you now, for six weeks', we were relieved. He was in the right place and not far away from the room where we both stayed put, so we could visit him.
A feeling of restlessness hung in the air. Was something about to happen? News from London was a direct contradiction of the papers. The Germans began to doubt and most wanted to go home, others became more fanatical. Raids never ceased and one early morning our street was cordoned off by armed guards and house-to-house checks were made. We were petrified when they entered our house, banging and shouting with those horrible voices. We kept very quiet, trembling like a leaf. One young soldier just poked his head around our door and left. Afterwards we saw several people being driven off in trucks.
April 29th. Today we had all gathered in the Uitweg to witness a miracle. The Germans had been forced to allow the British to drop food-parcels on pre-arranged locations. We hoped to get a good view from the window in the attic. The planes flew over slowly and very low with their bellies open! We jumped up and down wit-h excitement and a few tears were shed. This was the first of many deliveries of Operation Manna. The strong tins withstood the impact. They were collected before being allocated fairly. The contents were delicious, especially the egg-powder and the chocolate. As a token of thanks to the pilots, people spread the Dutch flag on their flat roofs, well out of sight from Germans.
May 4th. Back in our room, we were already in bed, when Mr Stoffels knocked on the door and blurted out that the peace- treaty was going to be signed at 8 am! Everyone got up and the couple in the front room invited us to look out of their window. We heard that a great number of students had been in hiding nearby and not been outside for years. Some could not wait and ignoring the curfew, ran into the street. Sadly, two were shot by a German on patrol.
May 5th 1945. The war was over and Holland was free! Our first thoughts were with my father and at 9 o'clock my mother and I stood on the doorstep of the clinic. It was too early and they refused to let us see him.
Everywhere people were dancing, embracing strangers and singing the national anthem. On the way to the Uitweg we met trucks full with disarmed soldiers, looking glum. Now it was their turn to be driven away! With great satisfaction, the yellow, German signposts were kicked down and wrapped in orange paper to be taken home for burning. From every house the flag was flying again, a mass of red, white and blue and with orange pennants. We had dyed sheets orange and they were made into dresses to wear to the city. I was very proud of my parachute-silk dress I had acquired from somewhere. We did not want to miss any of the festivities. De Dam has always been the heart of Amsterdam where the population congregates. We stood like sardines in a tin among pale, thin, but elated people. When the Canadian tanks arrived, covered with girls and flowers, the cheers were deafening. Suddenly shots were fired from a roof, where a few Germans were still present. The tanks closed immediately and we all fled into side-streets. It was a terrifying experience! The next day we watched a British parade and the Scots played the bag-pipes. They looked wonderful. We were told they didn't wear anything underneath their kilts, so we made sure we sat on the curb....Still none the wiser! Around every soldier was a crowd, kissing them and begging cigarettes. When I offered one a piece of my chocolate as a thank you, he gave me a packet of Lucky Strike, which infuriated the adults, but pleased my uncle!
The B.S., the Forces of the Interior, were rounding up members of the NSB. Girls, who had associated with Germans, were dragged into the street, tied to a chair to get their heads shaved and painted with red-lead. Hate without mercy!
Three weeks after the liberation, my father was discharged from hospital. He immediately made contact with the housing-department of the B.S. Our house was occupied by two families, but they promised to find us another one. We were put on the waiting-list. Meantime Willy had moved to Paleis Het Loo. She was one of 200 resistance workers invited by Queen Wilhelmina, to spend some time to recuperate in her palace. Willy never talked about her activities. Once, about 50 years later, did she mention a visit to Amersfoort prison, when she was part of a group posing as Germans, to get somebody out of there! We were allocated a house that had belonged to Jews, confiscated by Germans and re-possessed by the B.S. The original owners returned a year later and expected us to move out forthwith. The
B.S. helped right away to sort it all out. Wim was back! We moved again. Opa returned to Bergen and tante Hans went to New York to her nephew. My uncle was back at sea and my aunt found a nice flat in Amsterdam. John and Fred were living with their parents again and Mr Van Oortmersen returned from the concentration camp, ill, but alive! We settled in this pleasant part of The Hague, trying to adjust to normal life. I have a Menorah to remind me of people who were not so lucky....
The Menorah
The family to whom it belonged told us to retrieve it out of their garden in the event they failed to return from Auschwitz.
POSTSCRIPT
One memory that has been suppressed all this time is now ready to be put into words and to add to my story.
On one of my many walks in Amsterdam with my father all pedestrians were stopped by
soldiers. We were near a prison. In retaliation of an assassinated German, five young men came out and were lined up and executed. We had to watch. A vicar who looked at it from his window and praying for them was killed by a stray bullet.
Page 29
I should have elaborated on the train journey to Heilo with my father. Fancy my fear when he told me: Look, when soldiers enter the train and if I get arrested, pretend you don't know me, but make sure you take that suitcase with you!
Page 29
Then there is Fritz, the 4 year old, taken by the Gestapo·. ·I should have mentioned Opa's feelings of despair, guilt and failure. How did he tell the parents!? Though devastated the parents were so grateful for their safety and the other two boys, that they planted a tree for my family, in Jerusalem near the Holocaust museum.
Page 52
When I mentioned the crowd on the Dam and the Germans opening fire, 29 people were killed. One soldier was asked why he did it? His answer was: Why didn't you cheer like this when we arrived.
Page 52
The house we were allocated that had been confiscated by the Germans (from a Jewish family) had been used as a prison. When we lived in it a man came to the door to ask if his shoes were still there. He had escaped out of the window with the help of a sheet.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Thea Colemen - my story 1940-1945
Description
An account of the resource
Describes growing up in the Netherlands before the war. Writes of the political situation in the Netherlands before the war. Mentions the invasion by the Germans and subsequently describes life under occupation. Includes photographs of Rotterdam after bombing. Describes life between 1940 and 1942, including air raid drills, rationing, school, German defences along coast. Includes b/w photograph of German coastal defence bunker and fire on a pier. Mentions persecution of Jews and taking in sons of a Jewish family. Continues with description of activities including holidays, searches and the betrayal of members of the resistance. Continues with description of life living with friends and moving again to Zeist and then Amsterdam. Mentions shortage of food towards the end of the war and moving again and gives description of her family and lack of grain for bread. Writes of food being dropped by the British and liberation and the end of the war. Includes many b/w photographs of people and places
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
T E Coleman
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Sixty page printed document
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BColemanTEColemanTEv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Netherlands
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Netherlands--Zeist
Netherlands--Scheveningen
Netherlands--Hague
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
David Bloomfield
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
anti-Semitism
childhood in wartime
heirloom
Holocaust
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1765/30828/LLayneWH963102v1.2.pdf
92e993a538036ec434cab6f9f4840a3d
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Layne, Wally
Walter Henry Layne
W H Layne
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-06-07
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Layne, WH
Description
An account of the resource
100 items. The collection concerns Walter 'Wally' Layne (b. 1916, 963012, 40348 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, prisoner of war diary, personal and official correspondence and photographs. He flew operations as a wireless operator with 97 Squadron and became a prisoner of war after being shot down.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by D Layne and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Wally Layne's observer's and air gunner's flying log book
Format
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One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LLayneWH963102v1
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Mike Connock
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Czech Republic
Denmark
France
Germany
Great Britain
Italy
Netherlands
Norway
Atlantic Ocean--Baltic Sea
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
Czech Republic--Plzeň
Denmark--Copenhagen
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Nottinghamshire
England--Rutland
England--Yorkshire
France--Brest
France--Dunkerque
France--Lorient
France--Saint-Nazaire
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Bremen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Dortmund
Germany--Duisburg
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Essen
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Hamm (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Hannover
Germany--Helgoland
Germany--Karlsruhe
Germany--Kiel
Germany--Leverkusen
Germany--Mannheim
Germany--Mönchengladbach
Germany--Munich
Germany--Nuremberg
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Wilhelmshaven
Germany--Wuppertal
Italy--La Spezia
Italy--Milan
Italy--Turin
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Norway--Oslo
Wales--Gwynedd
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940
1941
1942
1943
1941-07-06
1941-07-07
1941-07-08
1941-07-09
1941-07-12
1941-07-13
1941-07-17
1941-07-18
1941-07-20
1941-07-21
1941-07-24
1941-07-28
1941-07-29
1941-08-06
1941-08-07
1941-08-16
1941-08-17
1941-08-18
1941-09-02
1941-09-03
1941-09-06
1941-09-07
1941-09-20
1941-09-21
1941-09-29
1941-09-30
1941-10-10
1941-10-13
1941-10-20
1941-10-21
1941-10-23
1941-10-29
1941-10-30
1941-10-31
1941-11-08
1941-11-09
1942-01-02
1942-01-03
1942-01-10
1942-01-11
1942-01-14
1942-01-15
1942-02-06
1942-02-24
1942-02-25
1942-02-26
1942-02-27
1942-02-28
1942-03-09
1942-03-10
1942-03-11
1942-03-13
1942-03-23
1942-03-24
1943-04-02
1943-04-03
1943-04-04
1943-04-05
1943-04-08
1943-04-09
1943-04-10
1943-04-13
1943-04-14
1943-05-12
1943-05-13
1943-05-14
1943-05-23
1943-05-24
1943-05-25
1943-05-26
1943-05-29
1943-05-30
1943-06-28
1943-06-29
1943-07-08
1943-07-09
1943-07-12
1943-07-13
1943-07-24
1943-07-25
1943-07-26
1943-08-10
1943-08-11
1943-08-12
1943-08-13
1943-08-17
1943-08-18
1943-08-22
1943-08-23
1943-08-27
1943-08-28
1943-08-31
1943-09-01
1943-09-03
1943-09-04
1943-09-05
1943-09-06
1943-09-07
1943-09-22
1943-09-23
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Description
An account of the resource
Observer’s and air gunner’s flying log book for Walter Henry lane, wireless operator/air gunner, covering the period from 19 October 1940 to 23 September 1943, when he was shot down and became a prisoner of war. He was stationed at RAF Penrhos, RAF Cottesmore, RAF Lindholme, RAF Swinderby, RAF Skellingthorpe, RAF Waddington, RAF Winthorpe, RAF Woodhall and RAF Bourn. Aircraft flown in were Dominie, Whitley, Battle, Anson, Hampden, Manchester, and Lancaster. He flew total of 63 operations 36 with 50 Squadron and 27 with 97 Squadron. Targets were Brest, Hamm, Bremen, Cologne, Keil, Karlsruhe, Copenhagen, Oslo, Berlin, Hamburg, Dunkirk, Amsterdam, Essen, St Nazaire, Wilhelmshaven, Heligoland, Lorient, Duisburg, Frankfurt, Spezia, Pilsen, Dortmund, Dusseldorf, Wuppertal, Turin, Nuremberg, Milan, Peenemunde, Leverkusen, Mönchengladbach, Mannheim, Munich, and Hannover. His pilots on operations were Flight Lieutenant Fox, Sergeant Mudd, Pilot Officer Carter, Squadron Leader Mulford, Pilot Officer Helmore, Pilot Officer Bartley, Sergeant Flight Sergeant Lord and Flying officer Fletcher DFM.
14 OTU
1661 HCU
50 Squadron
97 Squadron
air sea rescue
aircrew
Anson
Battle
bombing
Bombing and Gunnery School
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
Bombing of Peenemünde (17/18 August 1943)
crash
Dominie
Gneisenau
Hampden
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
Lancaster Mk 1
Lancaster Mk 3
Manchester
mine laying
missing in action
Operational Training Unit
prisoner of war
RAF Bourn
RAF Cottesmore
RAF Lindholme
RAF Penrhos
RAF Skellingthorpe
RAF Swinderby
RAF Waddington
RAF Winthorpe
RAF Woodhall Spa
RAF Yatesbury
Scharnhorst
shot down
target indicator
training
Whitley
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1554/27350/MMcDermottC1119618-161216-08.2.pdf
c304e96d8af4f4109fd36907facf2aec
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
McDermott, Colin
C McDermott
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-11-03
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
McDermott, C
Description
An account of the resource
87 items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant Colin McDermott (1119618 Royal Air Force). He served as an air gunnery instructor and flew operations as an air gunner with 98 Squadron. Contains his log book, papers and photographs and includes issues of 'Evidence in Camera'. <br /><br />The collection also contains albums of photographs from his training at <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1696">Evanton</a> in 1943, taken during his service in <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1699">Denmark </a>and some <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1698">duplicate </a>photographs.<br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Barbara Bury and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
VOLUME 3 NUMBER I0 JUNE 7th 1943
EVIDENCE IN Camera
[drawing]
MORGAN
ISSUED BY AIR MINISTRY A.C.A.S.(1)
FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY
[page break]
EVIDENCE IN CAMERA
1. This O.U.O. document may be issued to Officers' Mess and Station Reference Libraries. (K.R. & A.C.I. 882. 2236(c). 2287).
2. The only legitimate use which may be made of official documents or information derived from them is for the furtherance of the public service in the performance of official duties.
3. The publication of official documents, information from them, reproduction of extracts or their use for personal controversy, or for any private or public purpose without due authority is a breach of official trust under the OFFICIAL SECRETS ACTS. 1911 and 1920, and will be dealt with accordingly. (K.R. & A.C.I. 1071, 1072, 2238).
4. Copies not required for record purposes should be disposed of as Secret Waste in accordance with A.M.O. A.411/41.
SEE FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS ON BACK OF COVER
[page break]
[cartoon]
Scott.
"You never know who's listening."
217
[page break]
ANTI-INVASION PREPARATIONS AT THE HAGUE
[photograph]
[photograph]
Most of the area in which demolition is seen to have taken place lies between Sport Laan and Laan Van Meedervoort. The lay-out of the anti-tank ditch, parts of which are already being excavated, is apparent. Arrows show the approximate positions from which the oblique photographs on the next page were taken.
[photograph]
Demolition of houses for anti-invasion preparations has been proceeding at THE HAGUE. The areas indicated, to the West of the town, have been cleared (as seen in the lower photographs).
218
[page break]
[photograph]
DEMOLITION AT THE HAGUE
Left: This oblique photograph gives an impression of the gigantic proportions of the ditch and the area cleared of houses. It was taken looking S.E. down the Stadhouders Laan.
[photograph]
Right: The ditch is seen in the background in this photograph of the area a little further west. It was taken from above the bridge over the canal at the junction of Sport Laan and Kranenburg Weg.
219
[page break]
ANTI-TANK OBSTACLE AT SCHEVENINGEN
[photograph]
[photograph]
An anti-tank obstacle constructed along the front at SCHEVENINGEN (The Hague) at the entrance to the Port. (A) 'Teeth' set at an angle in concrete beds. (B) Pill-box. (C) Wire. (D) M.G. posts covered with netting.
220
[page break]
FURTHER FLOODING IN RUHR VALLEY
[photograph]
[photograph]
Photographs taken two days after the breaching of the Moehne [sic] Dam revealed further considerable flooding of the Ruhr valley near DUISBURG where the Ruhr joins the Rhine over fifty miles, in a direct line, from the Dam. Raffelberg Bridge (inset), which connected the two Mulheim suburbs of Styrum and Speldorf, was damaged during one of the recent attacks and the ruins were probably swept away by the floods.
221
[page break]
U.S.B.C. ATTACKS ON U-BOAT BASES
[photograph]
Direct hits were scored during the attack by U.S.B.C. on LORIENT, 17.5.43, when the U-Boat Shelters (A) and the Northern Power Station (B) were the targets. Many bursts can be seen at both these points including further hits on the Radial Slips, U-Boat Workshops and the rail tracks leading to them. Severe damage was also done to the Northern Power Station.
222
[page break]
Aircraft of U.S.B.C. attacked BORDEAUX on 17.5.43 and direct hits were scored on the lock gates (A) and the Matford Aero Engine Works (B). The photograph on the right was taken at an early stage of the attack, and later it was seen that the gates had been breached by bombs and the two basins connected with the U-Boat Shelters were emptying rapidly. (See below.)
[photograph]
[photograph]
223
[page break]
STEEL AND ARMAMENT WORKS DAMAGED
[photograph]
Considerable damage was caused during the R.A.F. attack on BOCHUM on 13/14.5.43 to the important steel and armament works. Vereinigte Stahlwerke A.G. Seriously damaged buildings included the rolling mill (A), the steel furnaces (B) and finishing sections (C). There was destruction to business/residential property, much of which is seen still burning.
224
[page break]
[photograph]
DUISBURG. Direct hits (arrows) on the roofs and platforms of the main Railway Station were registered in the attack of 12/13.5.43. Additional damage in the town was also caused in the extensive areas of business/residential property outlined.
[photograph]
ESSEN. The heavy engineering works of Fr. Krupps A.G. sustained further damage during the attacks of 30.4.43 and 1.5.43. An area of 8,700 sq. yds. of the large machine shops (A) was destroyed. The machine shop (B) was destroyed by fire over an area of 16,000 sq, yds. while the machine shop (C) received a direct hit which damaged the end of one bay and stripped roofing over a large area.
225
[page break]
KNOW YOUR PORTS
[photograph]
[photograph]
[inserted] Railway Station
Ferry Landing
South Harbour
Kronborg Harbour [/inserted]
HELSINGØR (ELSINØRE). This Danish port is on the Eastern side of the island of ZEALAND, facing the mainland of Sweden. The Elsinøre Shipbuilding and Engineering Co. (A) is concerned chiefly with the building and repair of M/vs. Sperrbrechers are also converted here and one can be seen in dry dock (B). Kronborg Castle (C) (also inset), the reputed home of Hamlet, was built in 1577 and restored after a fire in 1635.
226
[page break]
[boxed] CAMOUFLAGED STORAGE TANKS AT ROTTERDAM [/boxed]
[photograph]
Above: Uncamouflaged edible-oil storage tanks (A) on a quay at the Junction of the Wilhelmina Haven and the Nieuwe Maas River at SCHIEDAM.
[photograph]
Left: The two groups of tanks have been "mounded" with overhead netting (A) on which dummy trees (B) have been placed.
227
[page break]
EHRANG MARSHALLING YARD AND TRIER RAILWAY WORKSHOPS
[photograph]
[photograph]
[photograph]
The important Marshalling Yard (A) and Engine Shed (B) at EHRANG and the Railway Carriage and Wagon Workshops (C) at TRIER are on opposite banks of the River Moselle. Oblique views of the Ehrang Marshalling Yard (above) and the Trier Workshops (right), which deal with traffic between N.W. Germany (via Coblence and Cologne) and Eastern France (via Metz and Strasbourg). The Trier Broadcasting Station (D) operates on the medium waveband.
228 - 229
[page break]
[boxed] GERMAN ARMOURED CARS [/boxed]
[photograph]
[photograph]
FOUR-WHEELED ARMOURED CAR
This is the principal German armoured car. With its four-wheel steering and four-wheel drive it has a good cross-country performance. Its armament consists of a 2 cm. heavy M.G. and one L.M.G.
[photograph]
[boxed] Air Photographs of this vehicle were given on Pages 210 and 211 (Annotation C on latter page) of Vol. 3, No. 9. [/boxed]
230
[page break]
[photograph]
[photograph]
[photograph]
SIX WHEELED ARMOURED CAR
This German six-wheeled armoured car is not as common as the four and eight-wheeled vehicles. The overhead wireless grid, which is a German characteristic, may not be seen on all six-wheeled armoured cars.
231
[page break]
INUNDATION ON THE FRENCH COAST
[photograph]
[photograph]
Flooding of some of the river valleys on the French coast is almost certainly caused deliberately in order to make these valleys obstacles to lateral movement along the coast. The vertical and oblique photographs above show inundation of the SAANE Valley at QUIBERVILLE, West of Dieppe. What is possibly a control house (arrow) can be seen at the river mouth and the extent of the flooding is probably controlled by sluices. An anti-tank wall has been constructed leading from the cliff.
232
[page break]
[photograph]
Further inundation in the Dieppe area is evident at the mouth of the River Dun, ST. AUBIN-SUR-MER.
[photograph]
In POURVILLE, at the mouth of the River Scie, west of Dieppe, demolition has been carried out on the strip of land between the inundated area and the sea.
233
[page break]
[boxed] LANCASTER AIRCRAFT IN FLIGHT [/boxed]
[photograph]
These enlargements from a cine film show Lancasters on their way to attack COMINES Power Station.
[photograph]
[photograph]
[photograph]
Right: The dorsal turret of one of the Lancasters.
[photograph]
234
[page break]
[boxed] G.A.F. AIRCRAFT OF RUSSIAN DESIGN [/boxed]
The B.71, which is used by the G.A.F for target towing, is in fact the Russian SB-2, built under licence in Czechoslovakia.
[photograph]
Above: This B.71 in flight shows clearly its G.A.F. wing markings.
[photograph]
Above: A B.71 made conspicuous by its light coloured tail unit.
[photograph]
Left: Two more B.71s with a Do 17 at KOLN/OSTHEIM.
[photograph]
Above: A B.71 is here seen at ESBJERG with a Junkers W.34. B.71s are fairly often seen on German airfields, especially those near Flak Training Schools.
Right: At TRONDHEIM/VAERNES a B.71 on one of the runways with a Ju 52 and a W.34.
[photograph]
235
[page break]
FIGHTER AIRCRAFT SHELTERS AT LILLE/VENDEVILLE
[photograph]
LILLE/VENDEVILLE Aerodrome, constructed by the French in 1938 and used by the R.A.F., was developed by the Germans after their invasion. It is well equipped with all airfield facilities and the dispersal (A) for bombers is extensive. The latest addition, however, is a number of small fighter aircraft shelters (B) erected on the landing ground boundary.
236
[page break]
STAVANGER/SOLA AND STAVANGER/FORUS AERODROMES
[photograph]
STAVANGER/SOLA Aerodrome (A) was a Norwegian civil aerodrome with two runways, 1,440 and 1,000 yards in length, but after the German occupation the runways were lengthened to over 2,000 yards. A third runway of similar length and a perimeter track were constructed. Work was begun at STAVANGER/FORUS Aerodrome (B) at the end of April, 1940. One of the three intersecting runways is over 2,000 yards in length.
237
[page break]
[boxed] PROMINENT LANDMARKS [/boxed]
[photograph]
Above: CAP d'ANTIFER, North of Le Havre, is a salient point. The white circular light tower is approximately 400 ft. in height. The chalk cliffs between Cap d'Antifer and Saint Jouin, about three miles southward, are perpendicular and when the sun shines on them are visible from a great distance.
[photograph]
Left: Île Noire with its white, square light tower. The eastern part of the boom across the Morlaix Estuary is seen. Large buoys are set at intervals with irregularly spaced floats between them.
238
[page break]
[photograph]
BOULOGNE. Colonne de la Grande Armée (at extreme left), the top of which is elevated 459 ft., and the round tower, surmounted by a cupola, of Notre Dame Cathedral (at the right) are conspicuous objects.
[photograph]
LE TOUQUET. The light towers are prominent landmarks. The old tower (left) is painted with black and white horizontal bands.
239
[page break]
PROBLEM PICTURE.
[photograph]
WHAT IS THIS?
Answer at Foot of This Page.
CORRECTION: Vol.3. No. 9. Page 213.
Transpose the two captions "Three-quarter rear view" and "Three-quarter front view."
It will be noted that the radiator on this armoured car is at the rear.
[boxed] ANSWER TO PROBLEM PICTURE ABOVE.
Adcock D/F Station, East of AMSTERDAM, with earthing system at the foot of each mast showing distinctly. [/boxed]
240
[page break]
(4276), 51-9832. 2900. 7/6/43. 45.246.
C. & E. LAYTON LTD, London, E.C.4.
[page break]
EVIDENCE IN CAMERA
This weekly document will consist of a collection of illustrations varying in number in each issue according to the quantity of material of sufficient interest and suitable for reproduction that is received.
2. Requests for material to be included in this document should be submitted to Command Headquarters, who, after consideration, will submit them to Air Ministry, A.D.I.(Ph.). Any useful suggestions as regards contents will receive full consideration and will be welcomed.
3. Distribution is carried out by Air Ministry (A.I. I) and any requests for fewer or additional copies must be made through Group Headquarters who will ensure the maximum possible economy.
4. Under no circumstances must any of the illustrations be reproduced by Units in the British Isles. Further copies can be printed from the existing blocks and independent photographic reproduction would be a waste of material and labour to the detriment of the National War Effort.
5. The distribution of photographs to the general public is carried out through the Press who are supplied with photographs which have been specially selected for their general interest and have been published after careful consideration by the Security Branch and by the Ministry of Information; it is therefore unnecessary as well as undesirable to communicate any of the contents of this document, either directly or by discussion in public places, to persons not enjoying the privilege of serving in H.M. Forces.
6. The document has not been officially graded as Secret or Confidential in order that the widest distribution may be given, but Commanding Officers should use their discretion to ensure that the appropriate information is available only to those whose work will benefit.
7. The necessity for security cannot be over emphasised, for although this document is not marked Secret some of its contents may occasionally be of value to the enemy. Every care must be taken to prevent such information being disclosed.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Evidence in Camera Vol 3 No 10
Description
An account of the resource
A magazine of aerial photography covering anti-invasion preparations at the Hague, anti-tank obstacles at Scheveningen, flooding from the Mohne Dam, U-boat bases and port damage, factories, railway stations, camouflaged storage tanks, marshalling yards, German armoured cars, deliberate flooding along the French coast, Lancasters in flight, German aircraft, Lille and Stavanger airfields, prominent landmarks at Le Havre, Morlaix, Boulogne and Le Touquet and a problem picture to be guessed featuring a direction finding station.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1943-06-07
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One 28 page booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Text
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MMcDermottC1119618-161216-08
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
United States Army Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany--Duisburg
France--Lorient
Germany--Bochum
Germany--Essen
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Denmark--Helsingør
Germany--Trier
France--Quiberville
France--Dieppe
France--Comines
Norway--Trondheim
Germany--Ostheim vor der Rhön
France--Lille
Norway--Stavanger
France--Le Havre
France--Morlaix
France--Le Touquet-Paris-Plage
Netherlands--Amsterdam
France--Bordeaux (Nouvelle-Aquitaine)
Netherlands--Hague
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
Netherlands--Hague
France
Germany--Möhne River Dam
Germany
Denmark
Netherlands
Norway
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Air Ministry
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Babs Nichols
aerial photograph
bombing
Eder Möhne and Sorpe operation (16–17 May 1943)
Ju 52
Lancaster
reconnaissance photograph
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1554/27343/MMcDermottC1119618-161216-06.1.pdf
b509cf7e347e222d9222b9d4e8f5b864
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
McDermott, Colin
C McDermott
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-11-03
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
McDermott, C
Description
An account of the resource
87 items. The collection concerns Flight Lieutenant Colin McDermott (1119618 Royal Air Force). He served as an air gunnery instructor and flew operations as an air gunner with 98 Squadron. Contains his log book, papers and photographs and includes issues of 'Evidence in Camera'. <br /><br />The collection also contains albums of photographs from his training at <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1696">Evanton</a> in 1943, taken during his service in <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1699">Denmark </a>and some <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1698">duplicate </a>photographs.<br /><br />The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Barbara Bury and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
VOLUME 4 NUMBER 7 AUGUST 16TH 1943
EVIDENCE IN CAMERA
[Sketch]
ISSUED BY AIR MINISTRY A.C.A.S. (1)
FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY
[page break]
EVIDENCE IN CAMERA
1. This O.U.O. document may be issued to Officers’ Mess and Station Reference Libraries. (K.R. & A.C.I. 882, 2236(c), 2287.)
2. The only legitimate use which may be made of official documents or information derived from them is for the furtherance of the public service in the performance of official duties.
3. The publication of official documents, information from them, reproduction of extracts or their use for personal controversy, or for any private or public purpose without due authority is a breach of official trust under the OFFICIAL SECRETS ACTS, 1911 AND 1920, and will be dealt with accordingly. (K.R. & A.C.I. 1071, 1072, 2238).
4. Copies not required for record purposes should be disposed of as Secret Waste in accordance with A.M.O. A.411/41.
SEE FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS ON BACK OF COVER.
[page break]
[cartoon]
This is the height of insecurity.
So is careless talk.
145
[page break]
STUDIES IN MASS FLIGHTS
[Photograph]
An impressive photograph from an unusual angle of Liberators in formation.
146
[page break]
[Photograph]
An aircraft of the R.A.F., returning from a reconnaissance over Hamburg, photographed these Fortresses of U.S.B.C. over the North Sea.
147
[page break]
[Photograph]
The Argus Motoren G.m.b.H. of BERLIN/REINICKENDORF produces aero-engines of its own design and also for Junkers. The area (A) shows the factory in 1930. The additions were made prior to the war but little progress has been made during the past two years. The machine or assembly shops are at (B) and it is believed that some production is taking place at the unfinished shop (C). The aero-engine test beds are at (D) while aircraft wheels and brakes are manufactured at (E). Two sites (F) have been cleared for further construction; one is water-logged and the other is used as an air raid shelter. A small Heinkel factory (G) is making aircraft components.
148
[page break]
[Photograph]
Extensive damage was caused in the U.S.B.C. daylight attack (22.6.43) on the important Synthetic Rubber Works at HULS, N.W. of Krefeld. This plant, the second of its kind in Germany, was built in 1940 as an addition to the existing plant which was producing ethylene glycol. Many of the most important plants and buildings were damaged in the attack and it is considered that the plant will be out of production for at least four to five months. Six gas holders were destroyed.
149
[page break]
KNOW YOUR PORTS – ST. MALO
[Photograph]
ST. MALO is a fortified seaport town standing on the eastern side of the mouth of the River Rance. The rocky island on which the town was built is connected to the mainland by Le Sillon, a narrow causeway three-quarters of a mile long.
150
[page break]
[Photograph]
This oblique photograph of ST. MALO was taken by an aircraft flying south of the port. St. Malo has been converted into a base for minesweepers, while the activity of merchant shipping has increased and material is transported to the Channel Islands.
151
[page break]
CAMOUFLAGE AT AMSTERDAM
[Photograph]
Hangars, huts and flak towers of the Schellingwoude Seaplane Base, to the East of the port of AMSTERDAM, have been extensively camouflaged. Compare this photograph of the base before being camouflaged with that on the next page.
152
[page break]
[Photograph]
The two main hangars (A) and nearly all the buildings on the triangle of land have been camouflaged with netting on framework. A large area of overhead netting completely covers a group of small huts (B). Four flak towers (C) have been mounded with netting, two being joined to camouflaged hangars. The road system, equally obvious on both photographs, discloses the layout of the area.
153
[page break]
SEVERE DAMAGE TO ARADO FACTORY, WARNEMUNDE
[Photograph]
Very severe damage was caused to the Arado Aircraft Factory, WARNEMUNDE, during the U.S.B.C. daylight attack (29.7.43). A smoke screen had been started but a heavy concentration of bombs fell on the factory (inset). Eighteen of the 27 buildings of the factory were destroyed or damaged. They included one of the main workshops (A), with a hole of 200 sq. yds, in the roof; the assembly or sub-assembly shops (B), severely damaged; boiler house (C), almost destroyed; and another main workshop (D), 800 sq. yds. of roof destroyed. Warehouses and other buildings (E) on the quayside were seriously damaged.
154
[page break]
FIRST ATTACK ON REMSCHEID
[Photograph]
An important Steel Works, the Bergische Stahlindustrie (special alloy forgings for aircraft and aero-engines), was very heavily damaged when REMSCHEID, E. of Dusseldorf, was attacked by Bomber Command on 30/31.7.43. The main station, also in this area, was severely damaged. The rest of the town was devastated by fire and H.E., the damage from H.E. being particularly severe.
155
[page break]
[Photograph]
THE DEVASTATED PORT AND CITY OF HAMBURG
Damage to commercial and industrial property in HAMBURG, caused during five Bomber Command night attacks and two U.S.B.C. daylight attacks between 24/25 and 28/29.7.43, is on an enormous scale. Since these reconnaissance photographs were taken Hamburg has been attacked again.
156
[page break]
[Photograph continued]
The mosaic photograph shows the vast area of severe damage between Aussen Alster, just north of the Main Railway Station (A), and the River Elbe (B). The Main Station, which was extensively camouflaged (see Vol. 1, No. 10, Page 313), was seriously damaged.
157
[page break]
[Photograph]
HAMBURG. A night photograph taken during the attack on 24/25.7.43 revealed incendiary bombs outlining the camouflaged Binnen Alster (A) and burning on the bridge (B). Note the dummy bridge (C) over the Aussen Alster. Sticks of incendiaries are burning in the Altona and Dock districts (to the right of the photograph) while the approximate site of the gas works, seen damaged in the next photograph, is indicated (arrow).
158
[page break]
[Photograph]
HAMBURG. Two large gas holders (A) were destroyed. Many warehouses near the Sandthor Hafen (B) and the Binnen Hafen (C) were completely destroyed and throughout the area photographed there is evidence of the great destruction by fire and high explosive bombs.
159
[page break]
[photograph]
HAMBURG. Warehouses on each side of the Baaken Hafen (A) and Ober Hafen (B) were destroyed. A three-island type merchant vessel of 350 feet (C) has been sunk and is lying with most of its superstructure above water. Railway facilities suffered heavily and practically all the buildings of the Hanover Goods Station and Depot (D) were demolished. Wrecked rolling stock is seen in storage and dock sidings and locomotive round houses (E and E1) were severely damaged.
160
[page break]
[Photograph]
The Neuhof Thermal Electric Power Station (A), one of the largest and most important in HAMBURG, was damaged during the attacks. The Hansa Műhle Seed Crushing Plant (B) has been considerably damaged, storage tanks being demolished. There are a number of craters on the railway sidings (C). INSET: An explosion (D) indicating that the oil storage tanks were hit during the U.S.B.C. attack on 25.7.43.
161
[page break]
TWICE BOMBED RAIL WORKSHOPS AT COLOGNE
Several buildings of the important Nippes Railway Workshops, COLOGNE, have been wrecked, rebuilt and destroyed again.
[photograph]
Left: The Locomotive Repair Shop (A) and other workshops (B and C) were severely damaged in the summer of 1942.
[Photograph]
Extensive building operations followed during the ensuing twelve months. The Locomotive Repair Shop (A) and the buildings (B) appeared to have been restored while considerable progress had been made in repairing the workshops (C).
162
[page break]
[Photograph]
Nippes Railway Workshops. After the attacks in June and July, 1943, locomotives were again visible in the building (A) which measures 275 yds. by 120 yds. and had been shattered a second time. An area of 250 sq. yds. of the rebuilt workshop (B) was damaged, while the roof of the building (B1) was burnt off. The workshop (C) was again damaged by fire and H.E. Many of the other railway workshops are seen to be seriously damaged or destroyed.
163
[page break]
[photograph]
MINE CLEARANCE VESSELS
The Germans have developed a new type of vessel which not only functions as a Sperrbrecher but also transports a number of motor boat minesweepers (30 ft. long) and acts as parent ship to them.
Above: This vessel (350 ft. o.a.), seen at HAUGESUND, S.W. Norway, has twelve motor boat minesweepers on her deck and is capable of carrying at least two more.
Right: This vessel (445 ft. o.a.) of the OSNABRUCK type, seen alongside at DOKSTAER (BERGEN), has a deck cargo of fifteen motor boat minesweepers. She is capable of carrying one more.
[Photograph]
164
[page break]
PROGRESS OF SALVAGE OPERATIONS ON THE ‘KONIGSBERG’
[Photograph]
[Photograph]
Salvage operations on the German cruiser KONIGSBERG at BERGEN have reached a new phase and recent photographs show that she has now been righted. She is afloat with a slight list to port and down by the stern. Part of her deck is submerged though her main and part of her secondary armament is clearly visible. INSET: A photograph taken a few weeks before she was righted shows the ‘Konigsberg’ lying bottom upwards in Bergen and supported by at least twelve camels. (For photographs of earlier salvage work on the ‘Konigsberg’, see Vol. 3, No. 3, Page 59.)
165
[page break]
FRENCH AIRCRAFT USED BY GERMAN AND ITALIAN AIR FORCES
The LeO 45 is one of the few modern bombers of French design which exist in any numbers, and many LeO 45s have now been taken over by Italy and Germany. The Germans are modifying this type and using it as a transport.
Right: LeO 45s in Italy. Four seen at CAMERI/NOVARA with S.M.84s (A).
[Photograph]
Below: LeO 45s at ISTRES with German Fw 190s (A) and a Ju 52 (B).
[Photograph]
166
[page break]
[Photograph]
LeO 45s, some of which still bear Vichy Air Force markings, lined up at BOLOGNA/BORGIO PANIGALE with S.M. 79s (A) and an S.M. 84 (B).
167
[page break]
PROBLEM PICTURE
[Photograph]
CRASHED OR IN FLIGHT?
Answer at Foot of This Page
ANSWER TO PROBLEM PICTURE ABOVE.
[Text upside down in original]
This is a Mustang in flight over France. (Note the shadow of the aircraft on the ground below.) The illusion that the aircraft has crashed is created by the port wing apparently being on the ground.
168
[page break]
(4506) 51-9832, 2900, 16/8/43. 45.246,
C. & E. LAYTON LTD. London, E.C.4.
[page break]
EVIDENCE IN CAMERA
This weekly document will consist of a collection of illustrations varying in number in each issue according to the quantity of material of sufficient interest and suitable for reproduction that is received.
2. Requests for material to be included in this document should be submitted to Command Headquarters, who, after consideration, will submit them to Air Ministry, A.D.I.(Ph.). Any useful suggestions as regards contents will receive full consideration and will be welcomed.
3. Distribution is carried out by Air Ministry (A.I. I) and any requests for fewer or additional copies must be made through Group Headquarters who will ensure the maximum possible economy.
4. Under no circumstances must any of the illustrations be reproduced by Units in the British Isles. Further copies can be printed from the existing blocks and independent photographic reproduction would be a waste of material and labour to the detriment of the National War Effort.
5. The distribution of photographs to the general public is carried out through the Press who are supplied with photographs which have been specially selected for their general interest and have been published after careful consideration by the Security Branch and by the Ministry of Information; it is therefore unnecessary as well as undesirable to communicate any of the contents of this document, either directly or by discussion in public places, to persons not enjoying the privilege of serving in H.M. Forces.
6. The document has not been officially graded as Secret or Confidential in order that the widest distribution may be given, but Commanding Officers should use their discretion to ensure that the appropriate information is available only to those whose work will benefit.
7. The necessity for security cannot be over emphasised, for although this document is not marked Secret some of its contents may occasionally be of value to the enemy. Every care must be taken to prevent such information being disclosed.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Evidence in Camera Vol 4 No 6
Description
An account of the resource
Aerial photography covering images of Liberators and B-17s in formation, factories, St Malo port, a seaplane base to the east of Amsterdam, a steel works, the devastated city of Hamburg, rail workshops at Cologne, a new mine clearance ship under construction, salvage operations on a German cruiser at Konigsberg, French aircraft being used by the Germans and Italians and a puzzle picture of a flying P-51.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1943-08-16
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
28 page booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Text
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MMcDermottC1119618-161216-06
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
United States Army Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Krefeld
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Germany--Remscheid
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Cologne
Norway--Haugesund
Norway--Bergen
Italy--Novara
France--Istres
Italy--Bologna
France--Saint-Malo
Germany--Rostock
Italy
France
Germany
Netherlands
Norway
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Air Ministry
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Angela Gaffney
aerial photograph
B-17
B-24
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
Fw 190
P-51
reconnaissance photograph
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1405/26420/LRobinsonFA33520v1.2.pdf
708f1dc7bd64207eea63cd6cffe934ff
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Robinson, F A
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2019-06-17
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Robinson, FA
Description
An account of the resource
Three items. The collection concerns Squadron Leader F A Robinson (b.1920, 33520 Royal Air Force) and contains his log books and a poem. He flew over 130 daylight operations with 1 PRU and 543 Squadron.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by P A Robinson and catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
F A Robinson’s flying log book for pilots. One
Description
An account of the resource
Flying log book for F A Robinson covering the period from 8 September 1938 to 22 January 1951. Detailing his flying training and operations flown, includes flight certificates, congratulatory messages and notes of appreciation from senior officers, a poem about 'Gremlins', newspaper clippings, photograph of a radar installation. He was stationed at RAF Cranwell (RAF College), RAF Old Sarum (S of AC), Abbeville (2 Squadron), RAF Odiham/Hendon (ROC Flt), RAF Hatfield/ Hendon (116 Squadron & 24 Squadron), RAF Benson/St. Eval (1 PRU & 543 Squadron). Aircraft flown in were Tutor, Hart, Hind, Audax, Hector, Lysander, Magister, Master, Roc, Stinson, Proctor, Spitfire, Anson, Wellington, Expediter, Oxford, Gladiator, Blenheim, Harvard, Tiger Moth, Hornet Moth, Meteor, Vampire. He flew over 130 daylight operations with 1 PRU and 543 Squadron. Photographic operations were flown over Le Havre, Honfleur, Cherbourg, Boulogne, Abbeville, Zeebrugge, Cap Gris Nez, Rotterdam, Antwerp, Ostend, Charleroi, Douai, Den Helder, Amsterdam, Lille, Bethune, St Omer, Leipzig, Ruhr, Flushing, Gronigen, Heppel, Cologne, Weert, Calais, Dunkirk, Nurnberg, Dortmund, Ems, Kiel, Emden, Cuxhaven, Franco-Spanish border, Brest, Bordeaux, St Nazaire, Ploumanac, Le Croisic, Ushant, St Lannion, Lorient, St Nazaire, Douarnez Bay, Pt Duraz, Morlaix, Toulouse, St Malo, Poissy, Lubeck, Travemunde, North German ports, Dortmund, Cologne, Stuttgart, Heilbronn, Frankfurt, Mezieres, Essen, Amsterdam, Swinemunde, Hamburg, Brussels, Liege, Gironde ports, La Pallice, Martha, Saarbrucken, Mealte, Aachen, Rouen, Alten fiord. The log book also lists his post war flights.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Mike French
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LRobinsonFA33520v.1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Belgium
France
Germany
Great Britain
Netherlands
Norway
Belgium--Antwerp
Belgium--Brussels
Belgium--Charleroi
Belgium--Ostend
Belgium--Zeebrugge
England--Cornwall (County)
England--Hampshire
England--Hertfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Middlesex
England--Oxfordshire
England--Surrey
England--Wiltshire
France--Abbeville
France--Béthune
France--Brest
France--Calais
France--Cherbourg
France--Le Croisic
France--Douai
France--Douarnenez
France--Dunkerque
France--Le Havre
France--Honfleur
France--Lannion
France--Lille
France--Lorient
France--Charleville-Mézières
France--Morlaix
France--La Pallice
France--Poissy
France--Rouen
France--Toulouse
France--Ouessant Island
Germany--Aachen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Cuxhaven
Germany--Dortmund-Ems Canal
Germany--Essen
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Hamburg
Germany--Heilbronn
Germany--Leipzig
Germany--Lübeck
Germany--Stuttgart
Germany--Saarbrücken
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Netherlands--Den Helder
Netherlands--Groningen
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Netherlands--Vlissingen
Netherlands--Weert
Norway--Altafjord
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
Germany--Emden (Lower Saxony)
Germany--Nuremberg
Germany--Saarbrücken
France--Saint-Malo
France--Saint-Omer (Pas-de-Calais)
Belgium--Liège
France--Bordeaux (Nouvelle-Aquitaine)
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
France--Ouessant Island
France--Saint-Nazaire
France--Cap Gris Nez
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1940-05-13
1940-05-14
1940-07-10
1940-07-11
1940-07-12
1940-07-23
1940-07-24
1940-07-29
1940-07-30
1940-08-02
1940-08-03
1940-08-06
1940-08-07
1940-08-10
1940-08-11
1940-08-14
1940-08-15
1940-08-18
1940-08-19
1940-09-11
1940-09-13
1940-09-18
1941-08-10
1941-08-17
1941-08-18
1941-08-19
1941-08-21
1941-08-22
1941-08-26
1941-08-27
1941-08-31
1941-09-02
1941-09-04
1941-09-16
1941-09-21
1941-09-22
1941-09-23
1941-09-26
1941-09-28
1941-10-02
1941-10-06
1941-10-13
1941-10-20
1941-10-23
1941-11-01
1941-11-03
1941-11-06
1941-11-12
1941-11-14
1941-11-18
1941-11-20
1941-11-24
1941-11-25
1941-12-01
1941-12-05
1941-12-07
1941-12-11
1941-12-13
1941-12-15
1941-12-19
1942-01-02
1942-01-04
1942-01-06
1942-01-09
1942-01-11
1942-01-12
1942-01-15
1942-01-16
1942-01-24
1942-01-26
1942-01-28
1942-02-02
1942-02-03
1942-02-05
1942-02-07
1942-02-08
1942-02-10
1942-02-11
1942-02-18
1942-02-19
1942-02-27
1942-03-05
1942-03-09
1942-03-24
1942-03-26
1942-03-27
1942-03-29
1942-04-02
1942-04-06
1942-04-12
1942-04-14
1942-04-16
1942-04-25
1942-04-30
1942-05-03
1942-05-06
1942-05-16
1942-05-18
1942-05-24
1942-05-28
1942-06-06
1942-06-17
1942-06-21
1942-06-22
1942-07-08
1942-07-18
1942-07-30
1942-08-06
1942-08-17
1942-08-18
1942-08-19
1942-08-23
1942-08-28
1942-09-11
1942-09-18
1942-10-04
1942-11-09
1942-11-10
1943-01-18
1943-06-25
1943-09-03
1943-09-05
1943-09-09
1943-09-13
1943-09-14
1943-09-19
1943-09-24
1943-09-26
1943-09-29
1943-10-09
1943-10-16
543 Squadron
aircrew
Anson
Blenheim
bombing
Flying Training School
Gneisenau
gremlin
Harvard
Lysander
Magister
Meteor
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
Photographic Reconnaissance Unit
pilot
Proctor
RAF Benson
RAF Cranwell
RAF Hatfield
RAF Hendon
RAF Odiham
RAF St Eval
Scharnhorst
Spitfire
Tiger Moth
Tirpitz
training
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/501/22544/MCurnockRM1815605-171114-012.2.pdf
9b4c8e2553331a037c7dc2406bba8fd6
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Curnock, Richard
Richard Murdock Curnock
R M Curnock
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Curnock, RM
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-04-18
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Description
An account of the resource
92 items. An oral history interview with Warrant Officer Richard Curnock (1924, 1915605 Royal Air Force), his log book, letters, photographs and prisoner of war magazines. He flew operations with 425 Squadron before being shot down and becoming a prisoner of war.
The collection has been licenced to the IBCC Digital Archive by Richard Curnock and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The Kriegie November 2011
Description
An account of the resource
News-sheet of the RAF ex-POW Association. This edition covers a charity motorcycle rode commemorating Roger Bushell, Charles Hancock's Long March told by his daughter, Book reviews, Alfie Fripp's revisit to Stalag Luft 3, Goings-on at Zagan, a dinner at RAF Henlow and a three part TV series about the Long March.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
The RAF ex-POW Association
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2011-11
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
18 printed sheets
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
MCurnockRM1815605-171114-012
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Royal Australian Air Force
Royal Air Force. Coastal Command
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Dover
Netherlands--Eindhoven
Netherlands--Arnhem
Germany--Celle
Germany--Barth
Germany--Berlin
Germany--Colditz
Germany--Berchtesgaden
Germany--Füssen
Italy--Stelvio Pass
England--Capel (Kent)
Austria--Kaunertal
Liechtenstein
Austria--Feldkirch
Germany--Baden-Baden
Germany--Trier
Netherlands--Dokkum
Germany--Wilhelmshaven
Poland
Germany--Spremberg
Germany--Stuttgart
Germany--Bremen
England--Bristol
France--Lille
Italy--Turin
Denmark--Esbjerg
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Poland--Żagań
Germany--Düsseldorf
France--Dunkerque
Belgium--Ieper
Germany--Bad Fallingbostel
Italy
France
Germany
Denmark
Austria
Belgium
Netherlands
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Gloucestershire
England--Kent
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
103 Squadron
104 Squadron
166 Squadron
207 Squadron
214 Squadron
218 Squadron
220 Squadron
35 Squadron
460 Squadron
50 Squadron
619 Squadron
77 Squadron
88 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bale out
Blenheim
Boston
crewing up
Distinguished Flying Cross
entertainment
escaping
Fw 190
Hudson
Lancaster
memorial
mess
navigator
P-51
prisoner of war
RAF Abingdon
RAF Attlebridge
RAF Biggin Hill
RAF Elsham Wolds
RAF Hendon
RAF Henlow
RAF Leeming
RAF Waddington
shot down
Spitfire
sport
Stalag Luft 3
Stalag Luft 6
the long march
Wellington
Whitley
wireless operator / air gunner
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/266/17927/BGriffinDAJGriffinDAJv1.2.pdf
0afbe6b15e5e9db9c9cce9da8fba63c9
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
‘ONE MAN AND HIS TIME’
David A. J. Griffin
All the world’s a stage,
and all the men and women merely players:
they have their exits, and their entrances;
and one man in his time plays many parts.
AS YOU LIKE IT
ACT II SCENE VII
[page break]
SYNOPSIS
“I -INK”, the four-engined Halifax bomber had hit hard. Its bombs had cascaded down on the German target, and now it was home to an eggs and bacon breakfast.
However, the terse warning, “Look out” Skipper: Fighter to Starboard” is the beginning of the end for the gallant old Lady and six members of its crew: Pilot John Farmer, Wireless Operator Eric Springett, Mid Upper Gunner Alf Stewart, Rear Gunner William Musson, Bomb Aimer Jack Wilson, and Flight Engineer John Satchell.
The aircraft, a flaming torch, explodes and the only survivor is David Griffin its Welsh navigator, who
lands in Holland and becomes a prisoner of war.
David, with other unfortunates, becomes human flotsam, and during his nineteen month’s captivity is cattle-trucked hither and thither in search of a home, the prison camp.
In East Prussia, he is introduced to the raw life: the complete lack of privacy; the thousand and one
rumours and prophecies which are believed, because they are desirable, the indomitable Allied airmen in adversity; the effect of letters or lack of them from loved ones; the gnawing hunger and perpetual cold, life in the Lager with its humour, pathos, repartee and longing for freedom; and the illicit daily BBC News bulletin, and David finds himself in an army camp in Poland with Dunkirk veterans- the forgotten men of yesterday. He meets McLeod, a grizzled veteran who has soldiered all over the world, and whose stock-in-trade is relating sexual experiences.
The summer of 1944 is hot, the hunger pangs are assuaged, and one feels that freedom is near.
However, the Russian enigma, halting their advance in front of Warsaw, when they had urged the
Poles to rise and kill the German garrison was hard to fathom.
Again, they are forced to move westwards into the heart of Germany. The winter of 1944/45 is spent
without Red Cross food parcels, without cigarettes and showers, assailed by the biting cold and slush
mud, and the confiscation of the Paillasses, the last vestige of prisoner comfort, when the Gestapo
swoop in the morning dark. However, humour and optimism still prevail and the fluctuations and
vicissitudes of war are eagerly discussed and analysed by the prisoners. Finally, Montgomery’s
armies cross the Rhine at Wesel and the camp takes to the road on foot. Trials and tribulations beset
the marchers, and the problem is to survive. Finally, David accompanies by his friend, Welling’s,
escapes from the column and endeavours to make his way to the “front”, and link-up with the
advancing Allied armies.
They are recaptured near Belson, but regain freedom and finally security when they live with Polish
slave workers in a big barn. Freedom is theirs when the 11th British Armoured Division overruns the
area and David meets Sergeant Bill Woodward, Military Medal, who had fought in the North African
Campaign and helped to liberate Brussels.
[page break]
[photograph] Handley-Page Halifax B.MK II Series (RAF)
[photograph] Author: Warrant Officer David Griffin (1945)
[page break]
[map] Reference Locations in Germany.
[map] Reference Locations as located within 2017 international borders.
[page break]
CHAPTER I
It was just before midnight on 27th September 1943. Crump! Crump! Went the bursting venom of the
anti-aircraft shells, and the Halifax bomber seemed to buck and leap several feet in the air as the
explosion reached upwards to claw it from the sky. This sudden, feverish burst of activity subsided
almost as soon as it had begun, as if the German range finders, 21,000 feet below, now disclaimed all interest in their target.
'Christ! That was close,' exclaimed Alf Stuart, the mid-upper gunner, 'If that was their first attempt, I'd hate to be around for the second.'
'Me, too,' chimed in the bomb aimer, Jack Wilson, 'the sudden racket frightened hell out of me.'
'Okay, let's settle down then,' commanded the skipper, 'we've just crossed the Dutch coast and that was the welcoming committee. So stay off the intercom! By the way, navigator, what's our ground speed?'
'One hundred and seventy-eight knots, Skip. We have a headwind and a full bomb load, but I estimate we're bang on track.'
Communication and the cackle of the intercom were turned off by the clicking of a switch, and
everyone went back to his appointed task of keeping the ship airborne. The gunners, mid-upper and
rear, scanned the darkened skies for possible attack; the wireless operator, Eric Springett, fiddled with the W/T knobs and slowly turned the direction-finding loop antenna for a bearing; the pilot, John Farmer, and flight-engineer, John Satchell, carefully scrutinised the dials of the aircraft's controls; while the bomb aimer, Jack Wilson for the umpteenth time, checked the bombsight to ensure all was in readiness. The navigator, David Griffin, meanwhile, was on his hands and knees looking for the transparent, celluloid 360° protractor, which had slid off the chart table when the aircraft had been uplifted.
'Bloody thing,' muttered Dave, 'it's always slipping and sliding, and in this black hole it's impossible to find.'
His fingers groped along the aircraft's floor until contact was made, enabling him to slide his fingers
under the elusive protractor and return it to the table on which the Mercator's projection was pinned.
By, the faint beam of light, he viewed the table's unholy mess: the once blank map now rapidly filling
with straight lines, figures and E.T. As, the highly gleaming dividers for measuring distances; the
pencil perched on the edge and ready to do a vanishing trick; and the ICAN computer which provided most of the answers to the problems besetting him. However, something was missing.
'Where's the bloody rubber?' he asked himself. He knew the answer and was just about to seek it out in the darkness below the table when he heard the clicking of the intercom.
'Captain to Navigator, what's the E.T.A. target, and give me a course for home when we've dropped
our bundle.'
'Okay, skipper!'
Dave went to work with feverish energy. He drew straight lines on the map, measured distances
meticulously with the dividers, worked out the new wind speed and direction and then, with the aid of the computer, arrived at an answer.
'E.T.A. target, 2325 hours, skipper, and the course home will be 278° magnetic.’
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The captain acknowledged, and then there was silence save for the steady drone of the aircraft's four powerful engines drawing them irresistibly towards the target.
Dave checked his calculations for possible error and then transferred the findings to the log sheet.
Everything was shipshape so far and going smoothly. Once the bombs had gone and they'd cleared the target area, the danger of plummeting earthwards would slowly recede and the odds of getting back to base and an egg and bacon breakfast would look rosier. Still, there was many a slip 'twixt cup and lip, as Dave knew only too well, and the homeward path would be fraught with difficulties, especially the German night fighters who'd be waiting for them.
At briefing, the navigation officer had told them that the actual bombing of the target area was to be
completed within forty-four minutes - saturation bombing they called it - allowing each wave of 150
aircraft 11 minutes to perform its task. Dave's squadron had been allocated to the third wave, and as
the first wave was due to commence at 2300 hours, Dave knew he was bang on time and would be
away before the fourth and final wave did their destruction. In the early days of the war, raids had
dragged on interminably as solitary bombers found their way to the target area only to be
overwhelmed by the ground defences. Now, however, saturation meant that the greatest number of
aircraft was over the target at one time and the defences could not cope with the avalanche that swept down upon them. The intensity of the attack would ensure that the ground defenders would be unable to leave the shelters to extinguish the incendiaries and so the target would be well ablaze and, hopefully, out of control by the time the fourth wave departed.
Dave tried to adjust the thin pencil-ray of light above the navigator's table so that it would reveal the
elusive eraser, but failed. He bent down to commence a square-search of the blackness and his efforts were immediately rewarded.
'Got it!' he exclaimed triumphantly, and then his short-lived joy was abruptly terminated by his knee
coming into hard contact with the sextant.
'Jesus Christ!' he groaned, 'My bloody knee'. He sat on the seat and nursed the hurt, feeling very sorry for himself.
'Only birds and fools fly', he mumbled, and then added as an afterthought, 'and birds don't fly at night.’
However, his feelings of self-pity were short-lived when the cackle of the intercom was immediately
followed by: 'Navigator, I can see the PFF flares going down, and the target is ahead and slightly to
starboard. Well done!'
Dave knew that the Path Finder Force, the elite of Bomber Command, always went ahead of the
bomber force to ring the target with different coloured flares. The following bomber force bomb
aimers were instructed to bomb on a particular colour. I for Ink, the aircraft in which they were
travelling, was still thirty minutes away, but at 20,000 odd feet one could see for miles.
'Good stuff’,. we won't get lost now,' he mused, then laughed at himself for being self-congratulatory.
Then it was back to the Mercator, groundspeeds, tracks, courses, airspeeds and the ever-fickle wind
speed and direction. It was feverish and painstaking activity, but Dave knew from experience that the hairline between life and death depended on Lady Luck and the vigilance and dedication of each
member of the crew.
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CHAPTER II
Dave checked his figures and calculations. Everything was correct. In two minutes they would arrive
at the turning point, ten nautical miles north of the target, and then head due south to perform their
night's work. All aircraft had to obey this ruling so that the bomber stream would be flowing in an
orderly direction and collisions in mid-air would be minimised.
The cackle of the intercom broke the silence, 'Okay, skipper, navigator here. New course 184°
magnetic, ready, now!’
The aircraft wheeled to starboard as if it were a winged mallard avoiding a fusillade of shot, and then
settled down for the run-in. There was silence for about thirty seconds and then the bomb-aimer took control: 'Two degrees to starboard, skipper, steady, steady, bang on, hold it!'
Dave estimated that they would continue this straight and level run for six minutes and in that time the bombs would have gone, the target cleared and then they could turn for home, so at 2328 hours they would steer 278°. He left his seat and peered over the crouched back of the bomb aimer through the perspex domed-nose of the Halifax. The night was literally on fire and the red, lurid glow of the
holocaust below was doing its best to banish the enshrouding darkness. The target was festooned with flames and the glow of the tracer bullets was like lianas creeping up from below to entwine and
squeeze the marauders from the sky. The descending coloured flares of the Path Finder Force made the area a veritable fairy-ground, but the crump! crump! of the exploding ack-ack shells reminded the intruders that this was hell on earth and the beckoning fires were waiting to envelop and consume them.
'Steady, skipper! Hold it! Hold it! Bombs gone.'
The Halifax seemed to lift upwards as if relieved of a weighty problem, but still continued on its
straight and level run.
'Christ! Did you see that Lanc?' exploded Jack Wilson, excitedly. 'It almost crashed into us.'
'The bloody fool was going the wrong way,' chorused Bill Mussed, the rear-gunner.
'Keep off the intercom!' commanded the skipper, and then there was silence.
'Get ready to steer course 278° magnetic, skipper—now!' commanded Dave, and the four-engined
bomber slewed once again to starboard and hurried into the night away from the inferno.
'Thank God for that,' whispered Dave to himself, 'and now let's get home to those bacon and eggs.
Bugger this for a lark!' He settled down to his charts and navigation, plotted a few loop bearings to
determine position and discovered that for once the wind speed and direction were constant and no
course change was necessary. So it was going to be a piece of cake and another op nearer the magical twenty-eight and 'screening'. Each crew member, excepting the skipper, had to complete twenty-eight operational flights before being rested as an instructor at an Operational Training Unit, and this was the Mecca everyone strove to attain because it meant a well-earned lull where relative safety and longer life expectancy existed. Not that any member of aircrew felt that he was going for a burton. The consensus of opinion was that it just couldn't happen to them, and Dave thought, like every other member of his crew, that he was luck personified and untouchable. The gods would always smile in his direction, even if they were angry at times and vented their wrath on others.
'I for Ink' stooged on unmolested, although both to port and starboard the luckless ones were trapped irretrievably in the bright glow of the spider's web weaved by the German searchlights. The bomber force was on its way home, but there would be many an airman missing when breakfast was served.
The rules of the game were being observed. The invaders had hit hard and relentlessly, and the
German night fighters would do their utmost to wreak vengeance.
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'Look out, Skipper! Fighter to starboard!' excitedly warned Bill, and then, almost immediately, from
Jack: 'another coming in from port. Look out!'
The rattle and clatter of machine gun bullets ripping and tearing their way through the fuselage were
so sudden and unexpected that Dave stood as if movement would help avoid destruction. Then there was quiet, a deathly quiet, and Dave thought that he must be the only one alive, and was just about to click on the intercom, when, 'Skipper here. Are you alright, navigator?'
'I'm okay, skipper.'
'Are you alright, bomb aimer?'
'Okay, skipper.'
So the roll call was carried out, and the seven members of the crew were all unhurt.
'Well done! We're all still hale and hearty so let's get our heads down and get this ship back to base.
By the way, rear gunner, which fighter attacked us?'
'Both, skipper. The attack was simultaneous - the starboard fighter came across the rear, while the one from port struck underneath at the belly. Bloody miracle that we're all still alive and airborne.'
'Don't underestimate I for Ink, Bill, she's a tough old girl. Engineer, check for damage! Now let's keep
quiet. We've still a long way to go. Keep your eyes peeled for fighters!' So the excitement was over,
and it was back to work. Dave glanced out of the astrodome and, although they were miles away from the target, the fires were plainly visible and the distant sky was suffused with a reddish glow. The incendiary bombs had done their work and the explosions would go on all night as the conflagration spread.
'I'd hate to be down there,' thought Dave. 'The farther I can get away the better. God help those who bale over the target area, they'd get curry.
His thoughts and feelings of smugness and security were rudely shattered with, 'Skipper, the port
outer's on fire.' It was Jack’s voice and sounded so matter of fact.
'Flight engineer, skipper here, see what you can do with the fire extinguisher! Do you think I ought to
dive her to see if we can blow it out?'
'Hang on, skip! I'll give it a go first.'
Dave switched off the light above the table, pulled aside the small blackout curtain and peered into the night. Flames from the port outer engine were being swept back by the slipstream but, although this was a dicey situation, there was no need to panic as the engineer might be able to come up with an answer. However, Dave couldn't understand how the fire had started. Some time had elapsed since the attack, and it seemed that the aircraft was functioning efficiently. Still you had to be prepared for all eventualities in this game.
'I've tried the extinguisher, skipper, and it doesn't seem to have any effect. You'd better dive.'
The big bomber seemed to lurch forward, and Dave held on tightly to his seat as the aircraft's nose
dipped and the rapid descent began. However, the flames just wouldn't disappear and were still licking hungrily around the engine cowling and being swept backwards by the force of the slipstream when they attained, once again, the straight and level position.
'I'll give her another go, engineer,' and immediately the rapid downward motion began again, but to no avail. The flames were determined in their resistance.
'What's our position, navigator?'
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'We've just crossed the Dutch border, skipper, and within ten minutes we'll be over the North Sea.'
'What about 'ditching'? Engineer, do you think the kite will hold together until then?'
'I don't think so. She could blow.'
All the crew heard the conversation, and Dave knew that ditching would be preferred to baling out.
They had practiced baling-out drill when the aircraft was on the ground, but all had voiced the opinion that they wouldn't be keen on the real thing, believing that pancaking into the sea would be preferable, although they had never experienced the latter.
'Let out the trailing aerial, wireless operator, so that we can transmit an SOS before ditching. Then
they'll know our position.'
I for Ink, still fully operational, relentlessly ploughed its way homewards, but now the flames from the engine were leaping and dancing their way backwards in the slipstream current, seeming to reach half the length of the aircraft.
'Okay, skipper here. Bale out!'
The terse and dreaded command struck home forcibly. This was it, the real thing. It was to be obeyed immediately.
Dave knew the drill: he clipped his 'chute to the snugly fitting harness; upended the navigator's table, fastening it to the fuselage of the aircraft; then kicked the fallen navigational instruments out of the way so that he could get to the escape hatch in the floor of the aircraft. He bent down, grasped the ringed handle and tugged upwards, but it failed to budge.
Looking up he saw the bomb aimer, wireless operator and other crew members lined-up in the correct order for baling, then heaved once more. The hatch door shot upwards and he fell back on his arse with the wind whistling in, twirling and twisting the small navigational slips and the paper log. Holding firmly to the floor of the fuselage, he lowered himself out feet first, his back facing the
direction in which they were heading. His legs hit the full blast of the slipstream to move upwards and adhere to the underside of the fuselage. Then his knee-length suede zip-up flying boots slid off into the darkness, and he was left in the ticklish position of having his head, shoulders and arms inside the Halifax, while the lower portion remained outside. Taking a final look at his oppos, he heaved upwards with his arms and was out into the night, sliding below the fuselage and hitting and taking something with him. Feverishly, his hand sought the handle of the ripcord, pulled hard, and within seconds it seemed that he was going upwards towards heaven rather than earthwards. The quiet and calm of the night surrounded him and it seemed as if nothing stirred. Perhaps this silence and serenity were accentuated by the tremendous contrast between being a prisoner of the noise, tension and unceasing, feverish activity of the aircraft for so long and then being suddenly liberated from it all. He was safe.
The sky, the clouds and the filtering moon were his, but way below him, to his surprise, was the
flaming torch, 'I for Ink'. How it had got there was beyond him, because he thought his rapid descent
would have taken him below the Halifax. The blazing aircraft riveted his attention as if mesmerised,
and then the spell was broken by an explosion, accompanied by a sheet of flame, and I for Ink'
plunged relentlessly earthwards.
Dave closed his eyes. 'Jesus!' he whispered. 'What an end!' He knew that the bomb aimer would have had time to bale, but the other five members of the crew would be trapped in the flaming hell by gravitational force and would be incinerated before they reached the ground. The German defences had done their work ruthlessly and efficiently.
The parachute oscillated in the cold September air and Dave placed one stockinged foot on the other
for warmth. Clasping his hands, he realised that something was amiss as they felt sticky and wet and
[page break]
on examination, he discovered they were bloody. His right knee felt cold and as his hand slid down to succour it, it contacted the bare, sticky flesh.
'Christ!' he blurted, 'My trouser leg must have ripped. How the hell did that happen?' Then it dawned. It was the trailing aerial which he had hit and carried away and the flesh of his hands and knee must have been cut in the process. Still, that was nothing. He was alive and kicking and that's what counted.
The descent seemed long and so he had time to ruminate upon the situation. He had no boots and no escape kit, having left the latter in the Halifax, and would be landing in Holland. The Germans where there as in every other occupied part of Europe, so it would be a long walk home. But he felt he could do it, such was the confidence of youth.
Suddenly a group of trees became discernible and the ground came rushing to meet him. He was going to land on his back, so frantically pulled on the parachute’s silken lines to gain control.
Then bang! He hit, not the ground, but what seemed a tall, wired fence. It held him for a moment, and then he crashed to the ground.
'Oh, my bloody ankle! My ankle!' he moaned.
Releasing himself from the harness, he hobbled around in small circles and realised he wasn't alone,
but had a spectator. On the other side of the fence was a large bull, which snorted away and was most angry because his nocturnal quiet had been shattered by the billowing, white angel from the skies. 'Piss off!' cried Dave angrily, and then, 'Jesus, my bloody ankle!'
The bull moved away but Dave still kept moving around in circles as if movement would alleviate and
banish the pain. Finally, he gathered his life-saving silk and moved to a spot a few hundred yards away to bury the evidence of his arrival. It was hard work and a sense of dissatisfaction existed with his handiwork on completion. Still, it would have to do, as he couldn't afford to linger.
He set off in a westerly direction, keeping the Pole star to his right, hobbling and favouring his left
foot, the stars, the clouds and the night his companions, and the quiet and stillness making their
impact.
'So this is Holland,' ruminated Dave. 'It could have been worse.'
[page break]
CHAPTER III
He had only walked about a 100 yards and already his busted ankle and feet were killing him. His
ankle pained his every step, while the soles of his feet, were cold and sore. Then he neared a clump of trees surrounding a small cottage. Nothing and no-one stirred and, thus, emboldened, he approached the front door, paused for a few moments and then knocked loudly. The sound reverberated in the still night, but no-one answered the summons, save the shadows of the nearby copse which seemed to jump in the flickering moonlight. Dave knocked again, but it seemed that the whole world was asleep and oblivious to his plight. He was just about to knock a third time, when he heard movement from within and muted voices as if they were discussing a course of action concerning their nocturnal visitor. Then
there was quiet and Dave, fearing that they thought he had left, knocked loudly.
A voice called out in Dutch, and Dave, not knowing the language, interpreted it as, 'Who are you, and what do you want?' So he set about giving an explanation: he was a British airman who had been shot down and wanted a new pair of shoes. It sounded ludicrous, almost like a music hall joke, but there was no response from within so obviously they didn't understand what he was trying to convey. The humour of the farcical situation was lost on the inmates. Mutterings continued to filter through the door, and so Dave knocked again and repeated his requirements. Finally, the door opened slowly and a powerful, middle-aged man carrying an oil lamp emerged. He thrust it at Dave's face, blinding him temporarily, and then lowered it to scrutinise the rest of him. Having satisfied that all was correct, he motioned the airman to enter, closed the door behind, and then turned up the wick of the lamp to reveal the other occupants: a stoutish woman - whom Dave assumed was the mother - and two children, a girl, aged about thirteen and a boy about sixteen.
The mother motioned him to sit and there was silence as he became the cynosure of all eyes. They
examined him closely; the children his navigator's brevet and sergeant's stripes; the man staring
intently at his face as if trying to recall recognition, while the woman seemed to be fascinated by his
trousers. He thought something was amiss and glanced down to rectify and button up, only to see his protruding, dried, bloody knee. He moved his hands to close the gaping rent in the cloth and noticed his hands were of the same red hue. No one moved, and for Dave the quiet and intensity of the observation was both unnerving and unsettling. He moved his feet to create a noise and lessen the tension, which created a stabbing pain from his injured knee causing Dave to gasp in pain.
The emission of sound broke the trance and created a stir. The mother moved into the next room and returned with a bowl of warm water and some soap and, with the aid of the daughter, proceeded to wash and cleanse the flesh around the right knee and also the hands. Then she removed Dave's left sock, revealing a very swollen, puffed, blue-mottled ankle. A few words were exchanged, but communication was difficult because of the language barrier and it was left to gesticulation and signs. Then there was food, a glass of milk and two slices of darkish coloured bread with honey.
It was now the early hours of the morning and Dave could hardly keep his eyes open. He was sick
with tiredness and every part of his body hurt, from the soles of his feet to his aching head. His host,
realising this, beckoned him to follow and he hobbled and limped in his wake to an adjoining room
containing an alcove, where a makeshift bed existed. It belonged to the boy and it was indicated that
for the next few hours it was Dave's also. The lamplight was removed, and Dave stripped to his vest
and pants, climbed in beside the boy and within minutes, despite the aches and pains which plagued
him, was fast asleep.
The next morning he awoke to the sound of voices and dressed hurriedly. The pain from his ankle was intense and, in the light of day it looked as if it had been painted blue. The clock informed him that it was almost eight. So he'd made a late, bad start to the day and his resolve to be a successful evader would come to naught, unless he left the present scene immediately.
In the next room, Dave was introduced by his host to three strangers, one of whom spoke a little
English. This person informed him that they were neighbouring farmers who had come to see him.
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'No bloody good,' ruminated Dave, 'the whole neighbourhood must know I'm here.'
He pointed to his feet and asked for shoes, for it was time he went. If he stayed much longer he was a goner. The woman brought him a gaily painted pair of Dutch wooden clogs which fitted fairly
comfortably, despite the swollen ankle, However, when he stood it was difficult to move freely as the shoes seemed to want to stay in one spot, and his ankle hurt like hell. Nevertheless, he had to go and so extended his hand in farewell. However, the woman placed an arm around his shoulders and
pointed to the food on the table, insisting that he partake.
Dave was so grateful for her kindness, and, also he realised that the next meal may be a long time
coming.
He sat down and was just about to commence breakfast when two Dutch policemen were ushered in by the boy. They motioned Dave to finish his meal, and then carried on an affable conversation with those present.
The meal over, the police stood and motioned that he should accompany them, but before he could do so the visitor, who could speak a smattering of English, grasped his hands and began to apologise,
'Gestapo, shooting, concentration camp, in the night, finished', were words mentioned and from the
explanation Dave arrived at the conclusion that during the night the Dutch farmer, his host, had gone to the local police station to tell of his whereabouts. He had done this not for himself, but for his family. Harbouring or helping an evader was punishable by death and his host had to put his family first. Dave understood the predicament as he would have done exactly the same thing if positions had been reversed, so as he moved towards the door, he stopped, looked his host straight in the eye and proffered his hand. The farmer grabbed and wrung it warmly, and Dave thought he detected a tear in the eye. It was as if he were pleased to be forgiven. He was no Judas, but a man, who, rightly so, placed the welfare and safety of his family above all else. Dave smiled at the mother and nodded his head in appreciation for what she had done, then threw a friendly salute at the two children before moving outside to the waiting car.
A friendly atmosphere pervaded the local Dutch police station and Dave was extended every courtesy, being allowed to sit in the office with the policemen on duty, drink coffee with an acorn flavour and carry on a conversation in sign language. Then the ringing and answering of the telephone brought the euphoria to an abrupt end. The word Luftwaffe was mentioned and Dave was bundled into a cell and the door clanged behind him. Within minutes, the cell corridor resounded with approaching steps and Dave, for the first time, was confronted with the greyish-green uniform of the Luftwaffe.
'Bloody good communication system these Dutch have', reasoned Dave. 'they knew these bastards
were on the way'.
The cell door was unlocked, and the German officer motioned Dave to follow him to the office, where a Luftwaffe feldwebel awaited. A canvas bag was produced, emptied, and Dave was asked to examine the contents - the pitiful, charred remains of five members of 'I for Ink'. It would have been impossible to identify anything or learn to whom they belonged, except that Dave knew what he was looking for and on the blackened, burnt 'dog-tags' was able to trace a few letters, fill in the ones that were obliterated and so make a name which represented a member of his crew. It was as if he were
completing a crossword puzzle. The officer informed him that five airmen had been incinerated in the plane crash, while the sixth member had been found dead in a garden about a mile away, the parachute open and surrounding him. Dave was shown the patch of leather on which the airman's name was printed and worn by aircrew as easy identification on the squadron. It was the wireless operator's, Eric Springett. No reason was given for the cause of death, save that the airman had a large cut on his forehead.
One of the policemen exchanged words with the Luftwaffe officer, and the latter instructed Dave to
remove his clogs as they were to be returned to the owner. Then he was conducted, bootless, to the
waiting truck, placed in the back with three Luftwaffe members - part of the crew that had been
examining the remains of 'I for Ink' - and driven off.
[page break]
The journey lasted about three-quarters of an hour, and Dave tried to fathom the reason for the
wireless operator's death. He had baled successfully as evidenced by the open chute, so what could
have caused it? The only conclusion he arrived at was the exploding bomber must have been
responsible as the luckless airman would have been in close proximity when the blast occurred. What a way to die! Five of his oppos burnt alive and the sixth also dead. These crew members over the past three months had been like a family. They had lived together in their Nissan hut. They had flown eight previous missions all without incident. He thought of the Irishmen, Jack Wilson and Bill
Mussed, the Londoners, John Farmer and Eric Springett, Alf Stuart from Northern England and his
close friend John Satchell, with whose family he had shared a meal and the last words John’s mother
had said to him, was “Look after John”. The thought made him shudder and realise that but for the
grace of God and that he was the navigator, first in the baling order, he would be dead too
The journey terminated with their arrival at an aerodrome, and from the number of M.E. 109s and
110s, at dispersal points and sprinkling the runways, it was easy to conclude that here was the home of several fighter squadrons, which battled with RAF bomber hordes at night and then cut swaths in the marauding American B17s during the day. Dave was taken into the administrative block and given a pair of RAF flying boots, identical with the ones he had lost. However, when putting them on found that they were both left-footed. He stood and felt like Charlie Chaplin doing the 'can-can', as both his feet pointed in the same direction.
A voice in German drew his attention from the lower half of his body and looking up, he saw a young, fresh looking Luftwaffe pilot observing him. The pilot spoke a few more words and Dave believed he was commiserating with him on his misfortune of having been shot down. Dave just smiled, shrugged his shoulders, then pointed to his two left feet. The German laughed and, as he walked away, said, in an impeccable French accent, 'C’est la guerre', and Dave, who had a smattering of French in his education, knew that although the fortunes of war had been unkind, the gods had smiled upon him during the last twenty-four hours.
Escorted by two guards, he duck walked his way to the cooler and was locked in a cell. Strangely
enough, a sense of security came over him with the shutting of the door, as this was a haven from the recent, violent vicissitudes which had stormed around and over him. Here was a refuge where one could rest and recuperate for the gales and tempests ahead. He removed his two 'left feet', lay on the narrow bunk, pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and within minutes was fast asleep.
[page break]
CHAPTER IV
The train rattled its way across the tracks, and the uneven motion caused Dave to sway against the
burly, armed guard sitting next to him. The movement produced a smile on the face of the German
soldier sitting opposite, and he, for the umpteenth time, produced the remark, 'For you the war is over'. Neither of Dave's custodians could speak a word of English, but this saying had found its way into the German's vocabulary at some time or other and now he loved using it. Perhaps it was to show his command of the English language or to impress on the prisoner the futility and hopelessness of his situation. The carriage had seats on either side and an aisle running down the middle, so the passengers could walk freely to and fro. Consequently, the RAF navigator attracted much attention and the Dutch passengers wanted to converse with Dave and offer him cigarettes. The burly one, however, wouldn't allow this and gesticulated with his machine gun for the gathering onlookers to disperse and go back to their seats, while his comrade-in-arms just sat and smiled benignly on all and sundry.
The train made several stops along the way, but finally the terminus was reached - Amsterdam. Here, Dave was hustled through the commuter crowd going their divers ways and into a room at the end of the platform, where three Luftwaffe personnel, one of whom was a feldwebel, waited. The burly guard produced an envelope containing three forms, all of which were duly signed. Thus, Dave, was signed, sealed and delivered. His two former guards, their task completed, left, leaving him in the custody of the new arrivals. Then, escorted to a waiting car, he was whisked through the streets of the city to his destination.
Dave was never really sure where the Royal Palace of the House of Nassau-Orange was actually
situated, in Amsterdam or The Hague, but in late September, 1943, it was the Headquarters of the
German Luftwaffe in the Low Countries and it was to this place that he was driven and incarcerated.
Although only there for a day and a night, his stay was uneventful, save for a chance meeting with Ray Bolland, a Canadian fighter pilot. After about three hours’ imprisonment, he was taken to the urinal by a guard and encountered the indomitable Ray, who was relieving himself. Dave sidled alongside the big Canadian, undid his fly and commenced pissing.
'What the hell brought you here, for Christ sake?' demanded a Canadian voice, half-humorously, half sarcastically. Dave, turned to view the speaker. The left side of his face was badly burned and part of
his battle dress had been charred. His left arm was in makeshift sling and he looked in bad shape.
'Bloody shot down. That's what happened to me,' informed Dave. 'I'm not here by invitation. What
happened to you? You look like you've had a rough time.'
'Shooting up trains, when I bought it and crashed'.
One of the guards yelled out something like 'Shut up' or 'hurry up'.
'Fuck-off, you son-of-a-bitch!' was the Canadian's immediate reply. Then he finished his toiletries,
carefully and deliberately buttoned up his fly with his good hand, and then shuffled off to his cell.
The next morning, they were off early and on the train before 7.30 a.m. The party consisted of Ray
Bolland, Jack McDonald, three guards and Dave. Ray and Jack were both Canadians who had been
shot down a few days previously while shooting up trains. They belonged to the same Typhoon
squadron, which made, weather permitting, daily sweeps of Northern France and the Low Countries.
Jack was unhurt, but Ray was in constant pain from the burns he'd received when his aircraft had
caught fire. Nevertheless, he was always cheerful and uncomplaining, and one had to admire his spirit and courage. The guards were fairly decent and although in their forties and seemingly too old for active service, were afraid of being sent to the Russian front. Every time Ray would mention 'Ruskies', they would throw up their hands in horror. A stint on the Russian front was the last thing that any of them wanted. It was a fate worse than death.
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The train was now ploughing its way through the wreckage of the Ruhr Valley. Germany's life-blood
as far as the sinews of war were concerned. Here nearly everything was made for the German war
effort, from the largest cannon and shell to perhaps the coloured pins placed on maps to indicate the various fighting fronts and the progress the German armies were making. All Royal Air Force flying personnel were familiar with the dreaded Ruhr, nicknamed 'Happy Valley', because it was a spot revisited time after time by Bomber Command and its thirty thousand antiaircraft guns had exacted a heavy toll of the invaders. Now, however, the rubble and wreckage on both sides. of the railway line were ample evidence of the special treatment meted out to it by the bomber boys. The crews of the Lancasters and Halifax’s performed their work of destruction in darkness and never saw evidence of their handwork, and it pleased Dave that it had not all been in vain.
The engine maintained its pace until it came to a large junction, where the lines criss-crossed to such a degree that their train was forced to lose momentum and click-clack its way along, finally stopping at a fairly large station. Everyone disembarked and gravitated to the platform on the other side. There was a big crowd and, as the waiting minutes ticked away, the three airmen and their guards became the centre of attention. The hostility was very much in evidence as, in all probability, these onlookers had been subjected to aerial bombardment and some had lost relatives and friends in the almost nightly holocaust. The mutterings and threats increased so the guards moved their charges against the wall and then took up protective positions on the outside.
'Christ'. They'll lynch us if that train doesn't come soon', stated McDonald. 'These bastards follow each other like a flock of sheep - they don't think for themselves.'
Then to the fore came a grizzled, old, railway worker carrying a large hammer. He was obviously a
wheel-tapper and looked menacingly at the prisoners of war.
'If he comes at me with that hammer, I'll be over those tracks like a two year old', stated the
irrepressible Bolland. 'He's a mean-looking son-of-a-bitch.'
The arrival of the 'old one' seemed to give the crowd direction and purpose, so two of the guards
pointed their machine guns at the menacing crowd, while the third drew his pistol
Things looked dicey, then the long awaited train puffed its way into the station and so the crowd had
somewhere to go and something else to do and so dispersed. The six of them clambered into a vacant carriage and slammed the door shut.
'I hope my stay in this goddamn country improves!' exclaimed Bolland. 'Bugger a mob which doesn't
make you welcome,' and with that he plonked himself in the corner seat, stretched out his long legs
and closed his eyes.
The journey terminated at Frankfurt on Main at about ten p.m., and they were exposed immediately to the military might of the Third Reich. The station, with its huge domed-glass roof, was seething with uniforms as army, air force and naval personnel were either catching trains to the far-flung outposts of the expanding or contracting Greater Germany, or disembarking for well-earned leave. No-one took any notice of the newly arrived POWs, for everyone was intent on going about their business and getting to their destination. Then the banshee of the air raid sirens was heard and the momentum increased. It seemed to Dave that he was watching an old silent movie and the actors, the milling throng, flickered on screen momentarily and then disappeared. The guards prodded their charges into a canter and they went down several flights of steps, reaching a sort of basement where there were bunks equipped with palliasses. This, then, was their resting place for the night.
For the next fifty-minutes or so it seemed that all hell was on the rampage. The scream of bombs could be heard as they hurtled earthwards, chilling the marrow of the bones and squeezing the innards until they felt like water. Then there was the crump of the bursting ack-ack shells and the roar of exploding bombs. Twice the whole building seemed to rock and then gently settle down as if annoyed at such rude awakenings. Dave lay on his bunk and thought of how his position had been reversed. Previously, he had always been above dishing it out, but now he was on the receiving end and wasn't too keen
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about it. Only about ten days ago, he had been over Frankfurt hitting shit out of it, but now it was he
who was getting lambasted.
'Bloody, stupid war!' he thought, 'But for me the war is over', and then immediately queried this
assumption, for it seemed that it was beginning all over again, but this time he was on the other side of the fence. Finally, the all-clear sounded, and so it was to sleep and let tomorrow look after itself.
On the morrow the three of them were taken to an interrogation centre for aircrew, situated a few
kilometres outside Frankfurt. Dave was searched, stripped of all personal possessions - one solitary
Parker fountain pen with gold nib, and then placed in a small, monastic-like cell. The quiet of the
surroundings contrasted sharply with the bustle, turmoil and ceaseless activity of the last seventy-two hours or so. It seemed that a thousand years had passed since being shot down, not just a few days. The endless and feverish movement from place to place had prevented him from contemplating his present position or thinking of the anguish his disappearance must have caused to his family, especially his mother.
It was his mother who counted. His father was soldiering somewhere in India, while his only brother
was deep in Burmese jungles grappling with Japs. It was his mother who would receive the dreaded
telegram, 'MISSING IN ACTION' from the Air Ministry, and would have to sweat out the weeks, until
she received news that he was a POW. He felt dreadfully sorry for her, as she had borne,
uncomplainingly, the brunt of everything. She was indestructible, but the pain and worry of it all must surely take their toll. He remembered the end of his last leave, when she had insisted on accompanying him to the railway station, over a mile away, to catch the 4.30 a.m. train. They had walked in the cold, dark starlight morning, not saying very much, but she occasionally reiterating the phrase, 'Take care of yourself, David and he, in his youth and exuberance, feeling that there was no need for worry as nothing could harm him. Then the train had pulled away from the platform, and she had been left, a deserted and very lonely figure filled with thoughts of apprehension and trepidation for the future.
In the afternoon he was conducted to the administrative block and interrogated by a Luftwaffe officer with an American accent, who began the session with a request for name, rank and number. Dave replied: David Job Griffin; Sergeant; 2711131. Then there were further requests for information: such as squadron number, how many planes involved in the raid, where were you trained etc. Dave knew that the only information he had to supply was name, rank and number and so remained silent in the face of further questions. The interrogator was skilled and couched the same questions in different ways, but Dave volunteered no enlightenment. After half an hour, Dave was returned to his cell, fed, locked up and left to wrestle with his thoughts, sweet and wonderful. The image of the beautiful, vivacious Joan, came flooding to his mind, cascading and sweeping all other thoughts away. Her dark, long hair framed her face and he wished fervently that he could be with her now, instead of in this bloody, miserable cell. She'd know now that he was missing, but he always told her that no harm could befall him and together they'd laughed away the fears that tried to mar their happiness. During his leaves, Joan and he had tramped the Welsh mountains enjoying the grandeur of the rugged scenery and happy in the knowledge that they were together. Life on the squadron was just too hectic and to be away from it all, safe, body whole, secure and Joan at his side was perfect. Then there was a sense of peace and permanence, for on the morrow you didn't have to be airborne and fly on operations, not for another seven days anyway and that seemed a lifetime away. Thus lost in thoughts, beautiful and wonderful and oblivious of his surroundings and predicament, he fell asleep.
For the next two days no-one bothered him. It seemed as if they had forgotten his presence and, apart from being allowed out to relieve himself, he was locked up all day. While in the lavatory, he came across some English literature in the shape of the newspaper, 'The Scotsman', cut into rectangular shapes for bum wiping. It was interesting reading, the advertisements, the snippets of news, the society gossip et cetera, and Dave became so engrossed that he forgot the passing of time. The banging of the door brought Dave back to reality and he hurriedly completed the necessaries and then took a batch of the 'toilet Scotsman' and stuffed them into his pocket. They would make good reading material when he became bored and so would help to pass the time. He was escorted to the toilet about three times a day and so would return the read material and return to the cell with a fresh batch of sheets. He came to regard the toilet as a lending library, where he borrowed and then returned the not too crumpled sheets and hoped that none of the other prisoners objected to the crinkly, slightly-creased toilet paper.
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On the fourth day, he was once again interrogated, being accused of belonging to a squadron involved in dropping saboteurs and agents in Occupied Europe. Why did he come down in Holland? Bomber Command didn't attack Dutch targets? Halifax’s were used to drop agents and his aircraft had been a Halifax? He was not a member of Bomber Command, but belonged to a squadron intent on the sly, dirty business of dropping spies et cetera? Then the interrogator would change his tack and laugh at the way Dave had been caught by the Dutch police.
'All Europe is on our side,' the interrogator would rave on, 'you had no chance of escaping.'
Finally, Dave was returned to his cell to the reading of The Scotsman, his concern and fears for his
mother; and then at night he would escape his imprisoning surroundings and become lost in
wonderful, tender thought of Joan.
There were two more interrogations before he was released. Dave was herded into a truck with about twenty other Empire airmen, who including the two Canadians; Bolland and McDonald, and driven to a transit camp to await transportation to a POW camp.
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CHAPTER V
The railway cattle truck with the French words, '8 Chevaux ou 48 Hommes' painted on its sides, rattled and swayed its way along the tracks, while the twenty-nine Allied airmen, all newly baptised prisoners of war of the German Reich, sat on the hard, wooden floor, backs to the sides for support and bodies slightly rocking in unison with the motion of the truck. All the prisoners were shoeless; these having been confiscated in order to minimise chances of escape. Although the sun had not yet set, the interior of the truck was dimly lit, for the light could only filter through the narrow, barred windows near the roof and the slit-opening caused by the sliding door not being completely closed.
The journey was nearing the end of its second day and already the cold was beginning to seep through the boards and into the stockinged feet of the inmates.
'Shit! This bloody cold kills me, for Christ sake,' stated Bolland to those near him. 'Talk about Canada!
That frost last night gave my feet hell. I thought my toes would drop off.'
'Me, too,' subscribed someone else. 'I was bloody glad when it warmed up this morning. The frost
seems to come up from the rail tracks and attacks your balls. Trust the bloody Germans to think up
some new form of torture.'
At this there were roars of laughter and the tedium of the journey was broken for a while. Dave knew how cold the previous night had been. He had wriggled his toes endlessly within the woollen stockings and had pulled his knees up into the stomach for warmth. Jesus, he was tired and, in all probability, it would be bitterly cold again tonight and there would be little sleep.
Someone got up to relieve himself by sidling up to the narrow aperture caused by the slightly open
sliding door and pissing out on to the moving, shiny tracks below.
An hour later one of the three guards lit the oil lamp and then a slice of dark bread, accompanied by a piece of German sausage, was handed out to each prisoner and hungrily devoured. The meal over, a quiet settled over the group and each prisoner was alone with his thoughts. Dave thought of Bill and the other dead members of his crew. They had been together for so long and were like members of a happy family. On the squadron they all lived in a Nissen hut, and when not flying would go off to the local pub and enjoy the friendliness and bonhomie that existed. The bar would be crowded with aircrew types, all living it up. They were the 'quick' of today and were not yet the 'dead' of tomorrow, so they had to make the most of it while the gods still favoured them. Often the last bus would be missed because of an attractive girl's company, but Dave didn't mind for he was free of emotional entanglements, having not yet met Joan. He loved walking back to base under the cold, frosty starlight for it made his blood tingle and course in his veins. He was alive and that was what mattered. He believed in his indestructibility, but doubts would arise when he saw what havoc operational flying was causing to his friends. Large gaps were being literally torn in the fabric of the squadron and these were filled by the 'sprogs', who arrived to fill the voids. It was an awful way to live, but better than dying.
The frost was now beginning to bite and the wooden boards of the floor were really cooling to the
arsehole. He was hale and hearty, but there were those in the party who had had a rough time. The
frost must be giving Bolland's burns hell, and yet the Canadian never complained. Then there was
Blackston, a rear gunner, who had come down from 20,000 feet and survived. All his crew had been
killed, but, on impact, the rear turret had broken loose, being propelled away from the burning wreck. Blackston had been in hospital for several weeks, but was one hell of a mess and pain plagued him. Danzey, a bomb aimer, had been shot down over Dortmund and his collarbone had never really knit. Each airman had a tale to tell. They had come down from God knows what height and survived. They looked a motley collection, but Dave admired their toughness and cheerfulness.
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Dave's thoughts were interrupted by the soft singing of the words:
'Missed the Saturday dance,
Heard they crowded the floor,
Couldn't bear it without you,
Don't get around much anymore'
It was the diminutive wireless operator, Slater, who occupied one of the corners of the truck. He had
been singing the song, on and off, all day. Most probably it had romantic associations, but he was
quite right, he wouldn't be going to any Saturday dance or getting around much for a long time.
Dave was pleased to see the rising sun on the morrow, as the early hours had been bitterly cold,
allowing him to sleep only in fits and starts. It seemed that the train had been stationary all night and little progress had been made towards their destination, the prisoner of war camp.
After another half hour, there was stirring amongst the inmates, and utterances such as, 'Christ! It was a bloody cold night' and 'I believe train hardly moved. We'll be in this caboose until resurrection day' et cetera. It seemed that the prisoners, spawned by the war, were no better than human flotsam. Their degree of priority was nil, and so the engine to which their truck was attached was shunted hither and thither to make way for important traffic which ferried soldiers, shells et cetera to the frontline. Thus the cattle truck was left motionless in some siding for hours, while the airmen cursed their luck and nearly froze to death.
The sun was high enough in the sky now, so the locking bar on the sliding door was removed. The
prisoners, under the direction of the three armed guards, then trooped out of the motionless wagon and walked a little way off the tracks. The morning ritual was then performed: trousers downed, each man got into the crouch or sitting-down position, bared his arse to the cold morning elements and proceeded to relieve himself. Everywhere you looked there were either steaming, white bums or dripping cocks.
'I've seen it all now!' exclaimed one wit. 'The seven wonders of the world'. and another asked, 'If a
passenger train passed now, I wonder what the traveller would think was going on?' and quick as a
flash came the answer from a connoisseur of the world of experience, 'I bet he'd think he'd seen not
arseholes, but Red Indians smoking big, brown cigars.'
The ceremony over, it was back to the truck with the door locked in a slightly ajar position to
accommodate the prospective pisser. It was breakfast time now, the slice of bread and sausage,
followed by coffee, German style, tasting like burnt acorns. The food, coupled with the rays of the
warming sun, helped to dissipate the effects of the cold night and make one feel almost human again. Then the train started to roll, everyone became cheerful and Slater began singing, 'Missed the Saturday dance.' The airmen were used to activity and motion and standing still in a deserted siding or on some out of the way railway track made them champ at the bit like horses waiting for the barriers to go up at the start of a race.
During the day, Dave was able to assess his companions in adversity. He had long conversations with
the Canadians, Bolland and McDonald. Their squadron, equipped with Typhoons, harassed trains,
road movement and specific daylight targets such as factories, gun emplacements et cetera. Both were unmarried, but Bolland loved England and wished to settle there after the war. McDonald had been at university studying economics, but had decided that he wanted to fly, so joined the R.C.A.F. They had flown umpteen ops between them, and, although their planes had suffered damage previously and had limped home, this was the first time they had been shot down.
Slater, of 'Missed the Saturday dance' fame, came from Manchester where according to him, 'lived the most beautiful girl in the world', his fiancée. They were due to be married next month, November, and
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he was quite cheery about it all, 'just temporary postponement' was his summation. His crew had
consisted of all officers, excepting him, he being a flight-sergeant. Consequently, after being shot
down and interrogated, he had been parted from other members of the crew, they going to an officers' camp.
'We'll be home by Christmas,' he confidently predicted. 'We're giving the Hun hell, and the Russians
will shake the piss out of them this winter.'
Blackston, the rear-gunner, filled him in about his crash from 20 000 feet. They were attacked by
fighters on leaving Monchengladbach and he shot one of the planes down. The bomber, a Lancaster,
had gone into a dive. Blackston tried to bale by rotating the rear gun turret, but it had jammed. Then
gravity got him and he couldn't move. On crashing, the turret had broken away from the aircraft and
been hurled yards away. The Lancaster had caught fire and had blown up. Only Blackston had
survived. Eight weeks in hospital had followed, but he still had problems.
Danzey, a bomb aimer, had come down with the aircraft from 18,000 foot into a Dortmund suburb,
ploughing through telegraph wires and buildings. Only Danzey and the mid upper gunner had
survived, and the latter was still in hospital. When they had been extricated from the wreck, the
intention of the rescuers was quite clear, they wanted a lynching, but the pathetic state of the two
survivors had somehow softened their approach.
'You can't blame the bastards', Danzey had told him. 'We knock hell out of their homes, kill their
wives and children and we expect the red carpet treatment?'
Then he'd asked Dave, where had he been shot down? And on hearing that it was Holland, he
commented: 'Avoid that bloody target area. That's where they'll give you curry. An eye for an eye et
cetera.' Everyman had a vivid story to tell. The three guards were quite friendly and from them Dave
learnt the German words for 'thank you', 'food', 'bread', 'cigarette' et cetera. They all thought the war would go on forever and felt that the Russians were the danger. They even voiced the opinion that the Germans, British and Americans would, before the war's end, unite and fight the Russians, driving them back from whence they came. Their thinking flabbergasted Dave, who believed that Hitler and the German nation were the main stumbling blocks to peace and international harmony. One of the guards always stood by the slightly ajar door, but the aperture was too narrow for escape, being designed solely as a piss hole. At first there had been a lot of ribaldry concerning the unusual urinal, with such comments as 'You'd better watch the passing trains or your cock and balls will finish up in the West, while you'll finish on the Russian front completely euchred', but now no-one took any notice, familiarity breeding contempt and disinterest.
The journey continued its slow, eastward progress, punctuated by long halts and harried by bitterly
cold nights. Dave would look out of the narrow opening and watch the passing pageant, consisting of
seemingly fast passenger trains or slow, ponderous freight trains. The latter were either open wagons, loaded with tanks, artillery guns, motor trucks et cetera, or cattle trucks, like the ones they were travelling in. What amazed Dave was that it seemed that the Greater German Reich had filched rolling stock from every part of Europe. The French wagons had written on them ‘8 Chevaux ou 48
Hommes’, while the origin of the others could be identified by such words as 'Italia' et cetera.
On the fifth day, the landscape started to change. The soil became sandy and pine forests abounded.
The outlook became monotonous, dreary and depressing. They were now in East Prussia, although
Dave didn't know this. He didn't know where the hell they were going and didn't much care. All he
wanted was to get the hell out of this wooden rectangular box, bathe and have a good sleep. His wish was granted about four p.m. on the sixth day, when the train pulled into an almost deserted siding. The prisoners were unloaded and marched along a sandy narrow track, flanked by the ubiquitous pines. Then after about four kilometres, they were there, their new home Stalug Luft 6, consisting of two lagers, A and K, and ringed by barbed wire and tall, stilted, postern boxes where Argus-eyed German sentries kept guard.
Outside a tall, heavily-barbed gate, the main entrance, they were kept waiting for about an hour before being admitted to a fore-lager, where the administrative office block was situated. Here they were
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stripped, their clothes searched and they were given their ikriegsgefangenert, prisoner or ‘kriegie’
number. In the darkness they were taken through another gate to B Block within K Lager, their new
home. Eighteen of their number were accommodated in room B3, while the remainder went to B4. A meal of a quarter of a tin of corned beef and mashed potatoes awaited each of them and then it was into the bunk, wrapped in two Russian blankets, spoils of war, and to sleep.
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CHAPTER VI
The inmates of B3 were awakened by shouts of, 'Austrichten! Ausrichten!' as the door was unbolted
and the guards came stamping in. Within minutes the kriegies were up, outside and lined up ready for the 'appel' or roll call. The guards moved down the lines, counting as they went. Then, when all were accounted for, the prisoners were dismissed and allowed to return to their huts. Then it was grub-up. Two steaming jugs of coffee, acorn flavoured, were brought from the camp cookhouse and distributed, a mug full each. That was the lot, breakfast was over.
Hut B3 fitted snugly into B Block, which was a long, low building divided into twelve divisions of
drab, colourless huts, B1 to B12. So B Block resembled terraced houses in some, very poor neglected
suburb. Opposite was C Block, in every way identical with B Block, with its twelve huts. Separating
the two was a sandy thoroughfare of about 60 feet in width. Each hut had a cobbled stone floor and
down each side were arranged eighteen two-tiered bunks. Thus, being full, B3 had a complement of
seventy-two persons. In the centre of the rectangular but was a stove with an iron top, measuring about eight feet by six and used for the dual purpose of heating and cooking. At the far end there was a small alcove and here resided a very large, galvanised dustbin, used at night as a urinal. The interior of the hut resembled a large stable with the two-tiered bunks being the stalls where the horses were bedded down.
Dave looked at the miserable surroundings and decided to hit the sack. The Germans wouldn't allow
members of aircrew to work, so he had no pressing engagement. He stretched out on the lower bunk, but couldn't be comfortable. He arose and shook the palliasse, his mattress, containing wooden shavings, but found that they had shifted to either the top or bottom of the sack, leaving the centre part almost denuded. He redistributed the shavings and examined the 'springs' of his wooden bunk. These consisted of six wooden slats, each about eight inches in width. However, instead of being equidistantly spaced, they had slid to new positions. Dave rearranged them and thought that if he were to lie on them for a lengthy period his body would finish up snakelike, in and out of the slats. He replaced the palliasse carefully so as not to disturb his handiwork, then gave the sack pillow a pummelling to soften the shavings and climbed into bed. His rest was soon disturbed by the itching of his ankles and lower legs. His first night in the lager hadn't been a restful one, for his whole body had been given curry by being bitten. It was, although he didn't know it yet, the wood termites in the shavings which were responsible.
Unable to rest, Dave decided to have a look at the outside, the world enclosed by barbed wire. The
thoroughfare between B and C Blocks was fairly crowded with kriegies. Some were just sitting or
standing sunning themselves, while others were brewing-up using their home made tin blowers. Dave made his way until he passed the end of B Block and then encountered, about twenty yards further on, two detached huts, the first being the kriegies' administration block where the British Man-of- Confidence and his staff did their 'sums' and the other being the camp theatre.
Fifteen yards on was the ablution block, and then before you reached the end of the city limits - the
barbed wire - was the toilet. Dave, feeling the call of nature, entered the 'rialto' of the camp, so named because it was here that the prisoners discussed the world situation and swapped tit-bits of news. At the 'rialto' rumours were born, gathered momentum and then radiated to all parts of the camp, keeping the prisoners' hopes alive that the war would be over by Christmas. The festive season seemed the terminating point for all things, when the kriegies would be home eating turkey, plum pudding et cetera.
The toilet was a long, hut with a floor of about 20 feet in width running down the middle and flanked
on either side by plank seats, containing about 60 holes each. Beneath was a huge pit dug in the earth which received the daily droppings. Thus 120 kriegies could relieve themselves at one time, but when Dave parked himself it was only half full. Wherever he looked, to the sides, to the front, one was confronted with crappers. Some were staring into space, others concentrating on the morning ritual.
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There were those who were reading the most recent letter they had received from home, while others were just yarning. All this was quite an experience for Dave, for he was used to privacy.
'How are you crapping today?' asked a Flight Sergeant sitting next to him. 'My piles are giving me
hell. What I need is plenty of fruit. One must have fruit for a good, comfortable shit.'
Dave didn't answer this familiarity and felt uncomfortable. Then the neighbourly Flight Sergeant
leaned towards Dave, and stated in a whisper, but ensuring that those near would hear. 'I heard that the British and Americans are landing in France in a week's time, and Churchill believes the war will be over by Christmas.’
This statement made those within hearing distance prick up their ears.
'How do you know?' demanded one. 'Is it pukka gen?'
The Flight-Sergeant just smiled knowingly, and placed a finger to his lips as if he couldn't betray his
unimpeachable source of information.
When those around left, the Flight Sergeant burst out laughing, 'This place gives me the effing shits,'
he roared. 'You say something whilst you are in here and it’s all around the camp within twenty
minutes. When I get back to the hut, they'll tell me that the British and Americans have already landed and Churchill's with them. This place is full of bloody rumours and boy do they get bigger and
bigger?'
Dave and the Flight Sergeant left together, he to return to his hut, Dave to 'bash the circuit'. Bashing
the circuit was walking around the perimeter of the camp and a path or track had been beaten out bythe feet of the kriegies. The way around followed the 'warning wire', and was the extreme limit to
which a prisoner could go. Touch the wire and the itchy finger of the sentry in the postern box could
bring about death. Five yards on the outside of the warning wire was the tall, thick, barbed wire fence, the second line of defence, and interspersed in this prickly maze were the stilted, postern boxes and their sentries.
On the northern side was the fore-lager, where the German administrative staff was housed. However, encircling the camp was another wire fence and then on the very outside was a huge ditch or moat to prevent tunnelling. The would-be tunneller would have to burrow deep to avoid surfacing in the ditch. All kriegies bashed the circuit in an anti-clockwise direction so it was rarely you passed someone face-to-face. The prisoners walked singly or in pairs, seldom in threes. When you walked alone you escaped from the overcrowding, the lack of privacy, and the congestion of seventy- two in a hut and almost two thousand enclosed in a compound that was far too small for such a number. On your own, one could lose oneself in private thoughts and escape from the monotony of the diurnal round and the impact the barbed wire had on the outlook of the inmates. Thus most of the airmen walked their days away so that time would go and release would seem to come sooner.
On his return to B3 it was almost midday and yet a few prisoners were still bedridden. Once morning
roll call was over, there was no sense of urgency as there was nothing to do. Consequently, some of
those who had been in the 'cage' for a long period had taken to the 'pit' and were indifferent to all else, as if they had woven a cocoon for themselves in which to take refuge. At noon a tub of meatless swede soup arrived from the communal kitchen and was distributed, a cup full per person. Dave felt the hunger pangs.
Breakfast had consisted of coffee and now a cup of watery, swede soup did nothing to alleviate the
situation. He was bloody hungry and was pleased when the daily bread ration arrived at two o'clock.
Twelve loaves were delivered for the 72 people, so it was six to a loaf. Being portioned out as equally
as possible, playing cards, of ace, king, queen, jack, ten and nine were placed on each share. Then
those involved drew from six other cards, and if the ace was drawn you collected the bread portion
with the ace, and so on. This lottery prevented anyone from gaining an unfair advantage in the bread stakes. Thus the bread was parcelled out and Dave, having examined his share, cut it down the middle
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into two slices. He knew that his bread ration had to last twenty-four hours and there was need to
conserve, eating one piece with the evening meal and the other for breakfast. He nibbled a little, and soon one piece had disappeared. He was still hungry, however, and couldn't refrain from devouring the other slice. He realised that he had committed a cardinal sin and on the morrow he'd feel miserable on an empty stomach. Still it was a lesson he would remember and his appetite would have to be curbed or he'd always be hungry.
The second and final 'appel' of the day was taken at about four p.m., followed by mashed potatoes and a quarter of tin of corned beef per man at about 5.30 p.m. Then the doors of the huts were locked and the captives were left to their own devices. Some of hut B3’s inmates were veteran prisoners who had spent time in other camps and had been shifted from place to place; then there were those who had been in captivity for about six months; and the newly arrived of which Dave was a member. Familiarity and understanding had not yet been established and so there was general quiet with small groups conversing quietly and others just lying on their bunks. It was a quiet night for ex-members of aircrew, a far cry from the rip-roaring, squadron, salad days when one went to the pub and lived it up. Then the lights went out and everyone returned to his thoughts, escaping to a certain extent from the drab trappings of captivity.
As the night progressed, one or other of the kriegies would be forced to make the pilgrimage to the
big, galvanised dustbin in the alcove to relieve themselves, and sometimes the volume and noise of the waterfall so made could be heard by those in close proximity. This would often result in vehement protestations:
'I don't mind the pissing or the noise,' stated the first speaker. 'It's the bloody stink I hate. It's those
stinking bastards who creep down here in the middle of night and leave their visiting card. The 'pong' almost kills me, and then in the morning you see those big, black turds floating about in a sea of piss, and some poor bastards have to empty it.'
At this there were always roars of laughter and the thaw was broken. So the banter continued until
tiredness and a desire for sleep overtook the participants.
So ended the first full day for Dave’s internment.
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CHAPTER VII
The mail arrived at infrequent intervals, but when it was delivered to each hut and doled out, the
kriegies stood around in hopeful expectancy. There were those who received four or five letters and
would then retire to the 'pit' to savour and ruminate the contents of each one; while others just stood, received nothing, shrugged their shoulders and smiled it off. Soon the have-nots would leave the hut to bash the circuit and get the bitterness out of their system. The majority of these had been behind barbed wire upwards of three years and had become the forgotten men of the war. Their wives or girlfriends had grown tired of waiting for the war's end and had found consolation elsewhere, for England was swarming with Allied soldiers, sailors and airmen in the shape of Yanks, Canadians, Poles, Free French, Australians and New Zealanders, apart from British personnel. Males from the four corners of the world had converged upon the little island and women were in short supply. So the kriegies who were still remembered, read and re-read their letters; while those who had been letter less consoled themselves that everything would be rectified with the next mail delivery. There were also those who lay on their bunks indifferent to everything.
The circuit was crowded with walkers all going one way. If one didn't walk there was little else to do
and boredom set in. Dave tried to walk twenty circuits a day, ten in the morning and ten in the
afternoon and then he was buggered. How many miles a day he wasn't able to estimate, but it was a
long way for his legs felt like weights when the daily exercise was completed. Still he wanted to keep
fit and, although it was a chore, he did his best to ensure the stint was completed.
Around the 'messpot' board a big crowd had gathered to read the latest sensational news from home. Dave didn't stop for he wanted to complete a few more circuits before resting. The 'messpot' board was so called for here letters were publicly displayed so that the world behind barbed wire could learn of the infidelity and indifference of the women they had left behind. A 'messpot' was a letter from a 'loved one' stating that the relationship was over and done with, and there was a crop of final notices every time there was a mail delivery. The recipient, instead of keeping the news to himself and brooding, was supposed to display it and show the world his indifference. Whether everyone carried out this procedure was doubtful, but the 'messpot' board was always pretty full after the postman had been.
On the tenth circuit, Dave was able, the crowd having thinned, to stop and read the details of the letters displayed. They contained the usual details; You've been gone a long time; I'm tired of waiting; you're only young once; there is someone new in my life who is absolutely wonderful et cetera. Three letters however, made Dave chuckle for they were so unusual, bordering on the absurd. The first, after the usual preamble, concluded with 'so I'm having a baby by this American, but don't worry, Darling, he's sending you cigarettes.' Another stated; 'I've married your father, Love Mother'; and the third announced that the correspondent, a former fiancée, had married a sailor, who was not the jealous or possessive type, and she was certain that when the respondent came home they could resume their love relationship once again without any problems.
Dave walked on and thought what a topsy-turvy world it was. One day you were in England, in love
and loved in return, confident wedding bells were for you. Then the next, you were a prisoner-of- war, forgotten, rejected, and kicked in the guts. No-one could predict the future and, although Dave had been a prisoner for nearly ten weeks, he still hadn't received any mail as yet and so in the years ahead there was plenty of time for a 'messpot' to come his way.
As he approached B3, he was reminded by the presence of the hand-wagon, laden with Red Cross
food parcels, that it was Saturday. He helped with the unloading and was rewarded with a Canadian
parcel. The parcels came from Britain, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the United States. It was
potluck what you received. All parcels contained two tins of meat, such as corned beef, ham roll, spam et cetera, but these had been removed to the communal kitchen so that the quarter tin of meat could be given to each prisoner for his evening meal. The Canadian parcel was prized for it contained a large bar of chocolate, a tin of butter, powdered milk called 'Klim', some sugar, a dozen 'dog' biscuits, a tin
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of jam and a packet of tea. There was also an issue of fifty cigarettes per man, so it was a weekly red
letter day for the camp. Dave buttered one of the biscuits and scoffed the lot. He then placed a little
sugar on a spoon, dipped in 'Klim', and sucked the contents. It was delicious. He reasoned that this was better than putting it in tea, for tea could be drunk without milk. He loved spooning the mixture of powdered milk and sugar, as his body seemed to cry out for sweet things. However, he had to observe restraint for there were seven days to go and one couldn't hog the lot and be hungry for the rest of the week.
He joined the group warming their backsides around the big stove and listened to the discussion about the wars progress.
'The bloody Ruskies will hit shit out of them this winter. They've already started their winter
offensive. Good old Joe, he'll get us out of here,' stated one Stalin enthusiast.
The kriegies were well-informed for every day a member of 'Big X' would come into the hut and read
the latest BBC news bulletin. The radio receiver's whereabouts was a top-secret and, in all probability, was only known by one or two prisoners. How on earth it had been made or smuggled in was beyond comprehension, but the camp was full of diverse and extraordinary talents and anything and everything could be accomplished.
‘We'll be out of here before Christmas. Maxie Clarke has predicted it. His latest is that the war will
finish on 23rd. December. Maxie's always been right,' chipped in an optimist.
'I'd put my money on Clarke any day. When he goes into a trance he comes up with the 'gen',
supported another Clarke supporter.
'Bullshit! You don't believe in that crap. Who's Maxie Clarke anyway? Some washed-out kriegie
living in B9, who goes down to the bog and has wonderful visions. Christmas is only three weeks
away, and you expect the war to be over by then. You all must be bloody crazy and around the bend.
Talk about barbed wire madness,' stated a realist.
'I'll put my money on Maxie,' retorted the optimist. Clarke says anything, because he enjoys being a
prophet. 'Talking about the bog, I need to go,' chimed in a disinterested bystander. 'That bloody place freezes the balls off you.
After the evening meal of a quarter of a tin of spam and spuds, the doors of the huts were locked and the long night began. There were bridge games, one hundred rubbers up as time was limitless and the same four people pitted their wits against each other night after night. Some played Ludo and others Tip-it. Cooking was going on at the stove, the Canadian biscuits having been enlarged by a long soaking were now being fried in margarine, supplied by the Germans, and then eaten with a dollop of jam on top. It was Saturday night and consolation was needed. On the squadron Saturday night was really enjoyed to the full. It was the pub, the dance, the girlfriend et cetera, but in B3 there were those just lying on their bunks, deep in thought of the Saturday nights of yesterday.
Out went the lights and on went the Saturday night's entertainment. The portable gramophone,
supplied by the Red Cross, started to churn out the music and the disc jockey for the night prattled on, while the ex-airmen relaxed in their pits.
'I'm a little on the lonely, a little on the lonely side,
I keep thinking of you only, and wishing you were by my side,
For you know dear, when you're not near, there's no-one to romance with' warbled Sinatra.
This was followed by Vera Lynne's:
'Yours till the stars lose their glory,
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Yours till the birds fail to sing,
Yours till the end of life's story.'
So it went on until the strain of, 'Whose taking you home tonight, after the dance is through,'
resounded through the hut.
'Jack! someone yelled. 'I wonder what Dulcie's doing tonight. I bet she's not thinking of you.'
'Once met, never forgotten.' replied the gallant Jack with a show of bravado. 'Dulcie will be waiting
when I get back. I'm number one.'
At this there were roars of laughter.
'Kidding yourself, aren't you?' quipped another. 'You'll be past middle-age by the time you get out of
here, and past it.'
'Not bloody likely', retorted Jack. 'Maxie Clarke has forecast we'll be home for Christmas.’
Then there were chortles from everywhere.
The night dragged on and the gramophone ceased to make music. Dave felt the urge to visit the 'bin'
and open his bowels, but although it was after midnight it wasn't a propitious moment to make the
long trek. Every night the conversation would finally centre on the bin and there would be grumbles
and oaths concerning the rotten, stinking bastards who had crept down in stealth and the dead of night to relieve themselves and leave the smell for those in the vicinity. Everyone used it at some time or other, but even if you had been one of the culprits the night before, you joined in the protest as vehemently as anyone else. Finally, Dave could hold it no longer and tip-toed towards the Mecca of relief. He unburdened himself and then, quickly but quietly, got back just in time to his neck of the
woods.
'Jesus Christ! Who’s the dirty bastard with the black, reeking arsehole? Saturday night in the lager
stinks!' exclaimed an angry kriegie. Of course, everyone seemed to stir themselves and join in the
tumult. The blokes at top end, away from it all, expressed righteous indignation mixed with muffled
laughter, while those in the path of the smell kept up the tirade.
Relieved and feeling a lot better, Dave pulled his two blankets closer to him and settled down for the
night.
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CHAPTER VIII
Christmas had come and gone and Maxie Clarke's prediction had failed to materialise. The winds were now bleak and chilling and the ground was iron hard and corrugated. There had been snow and rain about a month previously making the earth very wet, soft and boggy, and this situation had not been helped by the feet of nearly 2000 POWs pounding it incessantly. All this had changed, however, with the advent of icy frosts and drying, blood curdling winds.
The recreation or soccer, rugby, cricket ground was in continuous use all day. It wasn't really a
recreation ground, but was the only vacant area in the camp, being bounded by the back of C Block
and the warning wire on the southern side. In the morning there was always one rugby union match
played by the Kiwi enthusiasts against some form of opposition, while for the rest of the day the
ground was devoted to soccer. Each hut had a team in the 1st and 2nd Divisions of the Lager League,
and games were of an hour's duration. Then every afternoon about 2.30, a Major League game would take place. This league consisted of six teams, such as Arsenal, Leeds United, Manchester City et cetera, and only the very best players, generally professionals, semi-professionals or top class
amateurs participated. At these big games nearly all kriegies attended and a carnival atmosphere prevailed. The bookmakers would shout the odds and the currency was cigarettes. Everything was negotiable, providing you had the wherewithal, from a toothbrush to a Red Cross parcel. Over the years, individuals or combines had amassed fortunes, being sent cigarette parcels by relatives and friends, and it was whispered that some combines, consisting of three or four persons, had nest eggs of 40,000 cigarettes upwards. However, for the newly arrived prisoner the cigarette parcels had not yet started to flow and the individual was dependent on his weekly issue from the Red Cross. Dave couldn't afford a wager, for if he came unstuck then there would be no smokes until Saturday.
Although the ground was bone-hard and devoid of grass, Liverpool and Tottenham Hotspurs battled it out to the very end. The standard of play was exceptionally high and polished, and the spectators,
although chilled to the marrow, stayed to the bitter end and then the successful punters gathered their winnings and bee-lined for the huts to thaw out. East Prussia and the Baltic area were, according to the kriegies, the place where the balls of the proverbial brass monkey froze.
The continuing cold ensured that the pangs of hunger were always present, as the only supplement to the Red Cross parcel was the meagre German rations consisting of the acorn flavoured coffee at
breakfast and the evening meal; a cup of meatless, swede soup at midday; the daily ration of bread -
about two slices; a small weekly portion of margarine and about two potatoes daily. The body cried
out for bulk, such as plenty of bread to fill one up and sweet, cloying substances such as syrup. The
cold seemed to attack the 'waterworks' and one was forever urinating. The cold was only one factor,
the other being that nothing really solid was being consumed.
The cold was so intense that after morning roll call many of the inmates of B3 would return to their
bunks and stay till midday. However, the Canadians in the lager were more active and in the afternoon would be busily engaged in pouring buckets of water over the hard ground, thus obtaining a layer of ice the next morning.
This was repeated daily, until about three inches of ice thickness covered the surface. An ice-hockey
pitch was then marked with red and blue paint, with a maple leaf in the centre. More water was then added so a further layer of ice resulted and the lines underneath plainly visible. Then, with the aid of the Red Cross ice skates, the hockey games were on with a vengeance. The winter sport attracted many an onlooker and when the hockey was abandoned because of injuries, the lager took to icesliding minus skates.
The winter was long, dreary, cold and miserable and everyone longed for the spring greenery and
harbingers of warmer weather. The camp theatre was in constant use with the artistes taking part in
revues, plays and potpourri shows. The camp boasted two dance bands: a soft lights and sweet music
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combination; and a 'big band', similar to Glenn Miller's, whose rendering of 'American Patrol' was
superb.
Somewhere in the lager a tunnel was being dug so that escape could be effected in the warmer days
ahead. The only indication that escape activity was in the air was the request for bed boards to shore
up the sides of the tunnel and the presence of the 'penguins', the disposers of the newly-dug sand. The difficulty with digging a tunnel in East Prussia was the disposal of the sand. The whole camp was built on a sandy plain and when the tunnelled sand was strewn on the surface of the compound its different colour was plainly visible and the Germans knew that an escape was in the offing. The job of the 'penguins', so called because they waddled about when performing their function, was to fill socks with sand, place these down their trouser legs and walk around the camp gradually releasing a little at the time, then pressing or rubbing it into the surface. It was a tedious job and there was a lot of sand to dispose. The bulk of the sand was placed between the ceiling and the roof of the ablution block. It might have been winter, but there was no hibernation for 'Big X' as it had its sights on escape and freedom in the spring.
The cold 1943-44 winter brought good news from the Russian front. The Ruskies were bounding
along westward at a quickening pace, and every time a BBC bulletin was delivered to B3 another
Russian town had been retaken and the Germans driven pell-mell before the Red Army juggernaut. All this was very heartening for the, 'we'll be home by Christmas brigade', but the towns mentioned were hundreds of miles away and this fact was sobering. It would be a long while before the return to Blighty, unless the Second Front was opened up.
The discussions on this aspect of the war were often and heated. The prisoners of the 1939, 40 and 41 vintage couldn't understand Churchill's reluctance to attack Hitler's European fortress. They argued that there was plenty of room from Norway to the South of France for a landing, and the much vaunted German coastal fortifications were a myth - a figment of propaganda. Then there were those who debunked this line of thought as they had been shot down in the amphibious assault on Dieppe and had received a bloody nose. Their verdict was that the Atlantic Wall was tough and there would be tremendous casualties on invasion day. However, all longed for the Great Day to arrive and concurred that the war would be soon over after the landings. One thing the kriegies had in abundance was supreme optimism.
Whenever a newly shot-down airman arrived he was the centre of interest for a few days while
questioned about the world outside. When was the Second Front going to take place? What was it like in England now? Was the place full of Yanks, and were they as successful with the women as rumours had it? It was a small world, especially the bomber world. Many of the new arrivals had served on the same squadrons as those who had been in captivity for years and so knew the same pubs, the same streets and, in some cases, the same women.
The afternoon roll call now took place at 3 p.m., as it was almost dark three-quarters of an hour later. Thus the confinement to the hut seemed endless and more time was devoted to the culinary arts. Each day Dave would trim the crusts off his two slices of bread and place them in a tin. For seven days he would do this and then on Saturday night he would have a big bust. The chopped up crusts would be placed in a container, the contents just covered with water, and the lot placed on the stove, heated and constantly stirred. Thus a watery mixture would be achieved or a type of bread pudding. A little sugar was then added and it was a feast fit for a king - or it filled the void in the gnawing stomach for five minutes.
Once a week it was down to the ablution block for showers. Each hut was allowed three minutes from the time the water was turned on to its turning off. Seventy-two airmen would hurriedly strip and rush to get a share of one of the 24 water outlets in the ceiling. On would go water as cold as ice and everyone would flee from the icy jets, only to remember they only had 3 minutes. So it was back to the showers. Then it was too hot, burning the skin, followed by hasty retreat. It was back to the shower, only to find that the water had been turned off as the three minutes was up. So it was another seven days wait until the next shower. Still, it was all part of a kriegie's life and wouldn't last forever.
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To relieve the monotony of the daily round guest speakers would be invited to huts to expatiate upon their roles in civilian life. To B3 came a big game hunter from Kenya who woke up the denizens with stories of elephants running amok, lions springing from rocks on the unsuspecting hunter, and
romance under the African stars with a beautiful woman on safari. It was all magical stuff and the
dreary and monotonous surrounds were forgotten for an hour or two. Then, another time, the guest
speaker had fought as a pilot in the Spanish Civil War and spoke of the barbarism and atrocities
committed by Franco's men. Perhaps the most interesting talk was given by a former Hong Kong
police officer who spoke about gunrunning, opium addicts, brothels, venereal disease, murder and
violence. The lager was chockfull of talented men who had lived life to the full and then had taken to
the air to wage war against Hitler's Germany.
The German guards were nicknamed 'goons' or 'ferrets' and they were always in and out of the huts.
Trading with the enemy was 'verboten' as this could cause a spiral in prices and so this segment of
commerce was in the hands of the 'Big X' committee. The members of 'Big X' would inveigle an
unsuspecting guard to bring in from outside something unimportant and he would then be rewarded
with cigarettes or chocolates. Then, as time progressed, the same guard would be encouraged to
smuggle into the camp more important things, until he was hooked and blackmailed into smuggling
cameras, wireless valves, a compass, a passport and anything that was required. Thus an inaccessible
and necessary item became available for escape purposes et cetera.
The 'Big X' committee was in-charge of all important things such as escaping, trading with the
Germans, tunnelling et cetera. Before any escape attempt could be made, it had to be approved and
sanctioned by the committee. They were the experts and decided if the plan was feasible or not. They offered advice on tunnelling and in some cases took charge of the project. They were shadowy figures and no-one really knew their identities. It was better that way, so security could be maintained and leakages minimised.
The camp's third lager C was opened in March, 1944, to accommodate the American flyers who were being shot down in droves in their daylight sweeps over enemy occupied Europe. The Flying
Fortresses had a crew of ten or more, and the long flights over Europe to bomb and then fight their
way back to base were fraught with hazard. The odds were stacked against them. At first they came in trickles, but soon the floodgates opened and the new lager was soon packed to capacity. A and K
lagers housed British and British Empire airmen, and A, being the longest established, was the richest not only in cigarettes, but in all things, K came a poor second, but poor old C was certainly the poor relation, having to start from scratch. The lagers were separated by barbed wire entanglements, and the Germans wouldn't allow visiting or exchange of goods et cetera. However, as the months passed, the affluence of the new arrivals grew with the arrival of oodles of cigarettes et cetera, and the roles were reversed, the British lagers becoming the poor relations.
Thus the winter gradually wended its slow way towards spring, and the prisoners looked forward to
the warmer days ahead when the sun would help to assuage the pains of hunger and the biting cold
would leave the bones' marrow to rest and recover. Warmth and release from captivity were what the kriegies wanted and they felt that the summer of 1944 would grant them their wishes.
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CHAPTER IX
Although it was fine, it was a cool rather bleak day for the 'Kriegie Lager Fair'. The show had been
advertised for a number of weeks, but the roll up was rather poor. In the thoroughfare between B and C Blocks, a number of stalls had been set up by enterprising entrepreneurs who not only wanted to entertain and provide recreation for their fellow prisoners, but had an eye on enlarging their cigarette fortunes. Some stalls concerned themselves with the throwing of darts - five cigarettes a go, score 75 or over to win, odds of 10 to 1. Kicking a football through a hoop at 15 yards' distance was another game of skill or chance, while if you threw three balls out of three into a bucket from about ten yards, 'the world was yours' according to the barker. The variety offered was excellent, and Dave enjoyed himself stooging from stall to stall as one could forget the menial round for an hour or so. He had received four cigarette parcels since being shot down so he wasn't too badly off, but still had to observe restraint or his small nest egg would disappear. He paid ten cigarettes in order to try kicking the football through the hoop. He placed the ball on the spot, kept his eye on the ball and head steady, then carefully kicked and followed through. The ball slewed off his right foot a thousand miles from the target.
'Shit! What the hell went wrong?' he queried angrily.
'Bad luck, sir!' commiserated the obliging barker. 'Have another.
'Bullshit!' retorted Dave. 'You can't kick a football with two left feet.' He walked away realising that as the weather was chilly he'd worn his flying boots to the lager fair. He had received from the Red Cross a pair of RAF lace-up leather boots and a pair of trousers, but still wore the warm, fleecy-lined flying boots when it was cold. It was time he decided to return to the hut and change boots and then he'd give the barker, 'Bad luck, sir.' Dave had played a lot of soccer and felt that he could augment the Griffin fortune, but it was impossible with two left feet.
He was busily changing shoes, when the cry, 'News up! Watch the windows and doors for goons!'
'Christ! The news is early.' Dave reflected. 'The newsreader generally does his stuff in the afternoon
about 4.30 p.m.'
'Today, at dawn, the Allied Forces under the Supreme Commander, General Eisenhower, began their
invasion of Europe. Beachheads have been established and our troops are moving inland. 6th June,
1944, will live in history as Deliverance Day,' concluded the excited newsreader.
There was a groundswell of excitement in B3, but it didn't erupt into cheers as the kriegies had to
maintain restraint. They weren't supposed to know anything about the outside world and would have to wait until the Germans released news of the invasion. The hut was agog with excitement and
bonhomie. Everyone agreed that the war would soon be over, six to twelve weeks would see the end. They'd all be home by September at the latest, so there'd be no more cold, bloody winters to contend with. Life was going to be sweet from now on, so the summer months would be enjoyed for at the end it would be back to Blighty.
Dave thought he'd celebrate. He had his shooting boots on and so took out of his store five packets of twenty. A hundred cigarettes would give ten tries at kicking a ball through a hoop and, besides, you didn't have an Allied invasion of Europe every day. However, it wasn't his day, and within ten minutes he was back in the hut, minus the cigarettes.
To round up the fair, there was an inter-lager soccer match between A and B. The Germans were
allowing the A Lager team, plus one hundred supporters, to visit K Lager and it was going to be a big
match. The bookmakers, in an attempt to induce bets on K, were offering odds of 4 to 1 and there were plenty of takers. Dave felt that his team had sufficient talent to win and, after much soul-searching and trepidation, plonked down one hundred cigarettes on the underdogs. If K could win then he'd finish the day well in front, but if they came unstuck then he'd have squandered away a small fortune.
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The game was fast and furious and the spectators were in fine fettle for they knew more than their
captors - the invasion of Europe had begun, but not a word was disclosed. A Lager won 3 to 1, and as
Dave returned to B3, he felt like an eighteenth century rake who had just diced away the family
fortune. He admitted he had been profligate, but what the hell, the war was as good as over.
He had only been in the hut a few minutes when there was a mail delivery. There were three letters
from Joan and two from his mother, all written about a month previously. He retired to his bunk and
read and re-read the mail. Joan was well and expressed the hope that the war would soon finish and
they would be together again for always. She was lonely and missed Dave, and longed for his return.
His mother's letters were brave and encouraging, but reading between the lines he realised that she was anxious, worried and concerned about her son's health and welfare. 'What a wonderful day it's been!' thought Dave. 'I've had five letters from the two people that really count, and the Allies have invaded Europe. To hell with the cigarettes, I can afford it.'
The weather grew warmer and the two left flying-boots became unbearably hot to wear. They were
decidedly unseasonable in the July sunshine and had out-served their usefulness and should be got rid of. This line of thought was reinforced by the D Day invasions. Admittedly, the Allied armies weren't making the rapid progress that was expected of them, being bogged down in the Caen area, but the prisoners were convinced that they'd be home well before the winter commenced. Consequently, he wouldn't need his flying boots again, so what was the use of keeping them? The plan was to raffle, despite the fact that they'd give the lucky winner two left feet. He sought out Don Slater of 'missed the Saturday dance' fame and did a deal. Slater was to be an equal partner in the project and would display one of the boots in each of the B huts and ask for ten cigarettes a ticket in the lottery. Dave meanwhile would parade the other boot in the C huts. Everything in the lager was raffled and very little salesmanship or peddling was required.
Dave took a cardboard box, some paper, a pencil, and one of the flying boots with him and started off in C1. It was dead easy, he displayed the boot, eulogised about its qualities and then mentioned the ten cigarettes necessary to be in it. A member of a combine would just throw a packet of twenty into the box and request two tickets. This went on in every hut, but the problem was when you were paid ten loose cigarettes and they were just dropped in the box. They would get crumpled, tattered, and a little worse for wear, but they were still legal lager currency.
After a hectic, morning's business, Dave had his box full and so did Slater. They counted the cigs. like
misers and then split down the middle with just over two and a half thousand each. Then they put the names in the box, drew the lucky winner, who hailed from C5, and Dave delivered the 'golden' boots.
On Dave's return, Slater enquired anxiously, 'Jesus! What did he say when you presented him with the two left-ones?'
'Bugger all,' replied Dave cockily. 'He didn't blink an eyelid and just thanked me. He did mention
though that he'd raffle them, as two left boots would keep someone warm.'
'I'll have a few tickets in that raffle, Dave,’ commented Slater, 'and if I win, then we'll raffle them
again.'
That afternoon Dave accompanied Bolland, the ex-Typhoon pilot, to the communal kitchen to see Jack McDonald. Jack had his bunk in B3, but spent all his waking time in the kitchen, ensuring that the coffee jugs were full for the first and last meals of the day and the spuds were cooked for the evening meal. Sometimes the potatoes and corned beef were mashed together into a hash and this added a little variety to the bill of fare. Jack enjoyed cooking and claimed that he would open a restaurant when he got back to Canada and to hell with flying and prisoner of war camps. Jack had adapted well to prison life, for working full time in the cookhouse had ensured that his boundless energy was channelled into a positive direction. Bolland would never change. He was still irrepressible and ebullient, and his repartee was always sharp and affective. His wit was much appreciated in B3 and would produce roars of laughter with his comments, once the lights had been doused, about the 'bin'.
'You'll be home before long, Dave,' stated Jack. 'They'll get that Welsh dragon out to greet you.'
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'I bloody hope so,' replied Dave, 'but the progress the Allies are making is so bloody slow that we'll be here for bloody Christmas if they don't speed it up.'
'Like hell you'll be here,' interposed Bolland. 'The way the Ruskies are advancing you'll either be in
Moscow dining on caviar or the Germans will ship you west and you'll be deep in the heart of
Germany.'
They were joined by burly cookhouse boss Bill McGuinness and an almost Dickensian looking
character attired in a black top hat and a morning suit. This latter character was the local chimney
sweep and one would think that he was going to a wedding rather than a big soot clean-up.
McGuinness spoke a few words to the three of them and then he and the sweep disappeared into the cookhouse.
'A tremendous guy that McGuinness,' commented McDonald with undisguised admiration. 'I'd like to have him on my side if the chips were down.'
Bolland and Dave said nothing, both knowing that McGuinness had performed a superhuman feat
about two years previously and had been 'gonged'. He and his crew had crashed into the sea, and
McGuinness had swum three miles with his navigator, who couldn't swim, on his back. There were
brave men in the lager, but McGuinness ranked with the best of them.
The doors of B3 were unbolted and the 'ausrichtens' were a lot sharper and more imperious than usual. There was no doubt that the guards weren't putting up with any backchat or tardiness, for it seemed that they were on edge and this wasn't an opportune time for fooling around. The kriegies dressed quickly and moved outside into the warming sunshine and lined up outside the huts to be counted.
Then it was the camp commandant's turn. He was annoyed, and the kriegies, having learnt a
smattering of German, knew the drift of his anger even before the speech was interpreted into English. Apparently, during the night, part of the ceiling of the ablution block had collapsed under the weight of the stored sand from the tunnel and he, the colonel, would seek out the culprits and it would go hard with them. The prisoners were obviously tunnelling their way out, but the escape route would be found that day and it would be bulldozed out of existence. There was no escape from this stalag-luft as it was escape proof. He, the officers and the guards would see to that. The prisoners must be very naive if they thought they could outwit the German authorities. The prisoners were stupid, ungrateful and if they left the security of the camp could expect no mercy. The kriegies listened in silence for their commandant was a real soldier and a man of authority, having fought in France and on the Russian front. However, on dismissal, they laughed and joked about the happening in the ablution block.
They knew the tunnel would be discovered, but it mattered not, as soon the war would be over, once Monty and Ike (Montgomery and Eisenhower) got their act together.
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CHAPTER X
C Lager, where the American flyers were housed, had grown apace not only in numbers, but affluence. The parcels - cigarettes, clothing and food had cascaded in from the U.S., making the lot of the American kriegie a lot happier. They were now either better off or at least on a par with the two British lagers, A and K, and felt that in keeping with their new status should entertain and throw their 'home' open to their British comrades-in-arms. They had decided on a boxing extravaganza to which three hundred guests from each of the other lagers would be invited. The program would commence at 11.30 a.m. and continue until 4.00 p.m., and the Americans would fight and take on the other two lagers at fisticuffs. The big bout was to be between the 'Bearded Wonder', the C Lager champion of champions, and A Lager's Bill Macey. Macey had proven himself previously when boxing matches had been arranged between A and K, and had waltzed through his bouts with ease, generally flooring his opponents. He was the undisputed reigning British Kriegie Champion, and a lot was expected of him by his supporters. The 'Bearded Wonder', on the other hand, was an unknown quantity having never fought a fight in the camp.'
Three weeks before the big day, the ballyhoo began. The A Lager scribes published twice weekly a
one-sheet newspaper with all news of the forthcoming battle. Macey was in tremendous shape and
rearing to defend the honour of A and K Lagers. The paper stated that the British hero was an exguards officer, who had forsaken the regiment to fly with the Royal Air Force. It was all bullshit, at
least that was what Dave thought, but still it was good publicity for the coming encounter. Then there was a column contributed by the Americans about the 'Bearded Wonder'. He breakfasted on steaks, disposed of six sparring partners daily and did miles of roadwork. His identity was a closely guarded secret and it was whispered that during the fight he would wear a mask so he wouldn't be recognised. The article concluded that in all probability the 'Wonder' belonged to one of America's top families, a Roosevelt or Vanderbilt, and his anonymity must be preserved as Daddy wouldn't approve of Junior's participation in such a violent sport.
The big day dawned and Dave, who was fortunate enough to be included amongst the guests, trooped over to C Lager. The Americans had really entered into the spirit of the thing and constructed a first class boxing ring, and had home-made movie cameras, which didn't work, standing on tripods everywhere. Above, these cameras were signs such as 'Pathe', 'C.B.C. News', 'Movietone' et cetera. Each contest consisted of 3 rounds of 3 minutes’ duration, and fight followed fight. The boys from the A and B Lagers were given a touch of glamour by being introduced as Johnny Jones from Nepal, Fred Stuckey from Hong Kong, Bill Haines from the South China Seas, and Bill Waring from the Khyber Pass, India, the far-flung outposts of the Empire being given much prominence. Then it was 3.30 p.m. and time for the big bout, again a three rounder, as the camp diet was insufficient to warrant a fight of longer duration. The camp celebrities were introduced from the ring: American Man-of-Confidence, British Man-of-Confidence, then a string of well-known personalities who had made the big time in civilian life and whose status had been reduced by the vicissitudes of war. It was a topsy-turvy world, up one minute and down the next.
The betting was high and the American bookmakers were offering four to one on Macey, showing that in a two horse race he was considered a non-starter. The six hundred British visitors were plunging heavily on their champion, for they felt that the odds were terrific and they'd go away with fortunes. However, it was not to be. The A Lager champion, despite background and guardsman's moustache, succumbed to the 'Wonder' in a points decision. Of course, there was a howl of protest at the decisionfrom the British contingent: 'We wuz robbed', plaint, but the 'Wonder' had won fairly and squarely.
So it had been a great day and the Americans had grown richer by thousands of cigarettes and had left the poor relations A and B far behind.
The weather was really hot and the kriegies' attire was becoming less and less. Some had taken to
sunbathing in the nude and this was becoming the vogue, until a rumour circulated that hot sun on the
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testicles rendered one sterile. So respectability was gained by the 'g' string and the inmates continued to enjoy the warmth.
The heat helped to drive the hunger pangs away, and there seemed to be more energy for other
pursuits, such as swimming. K Lager had a fire pool, which was as black as the ace of spades and full
of frogs, but it was hot and an enterprising prisoner considered it was time for a swim. Everything was contagious in the Lager and within an hour the pool's surrounds were littered with naked bodies all enjoying the amenities of the new-found lido, while the pool was jammed with bathers who emerged a darker colour than on entering. For two days the new attraction was allowed to prosper by the authorities, although the amount of water gradually decreased as the water was splashed outwards on to the muddy banks by the antics of the bathers. Then the Germans acted, it was declared a health hazard - typhoid being mentioned and the pool was 'verboten'. So ended the two-day interlude at the seaside.
The aquatic activities having been curtailed at the height of the season, it was on with another summer sport, cricket, and what better than a test match between England and Australia to capture and hold the interests of the men of B Lager. The English supporters stated that it would be a non-event, because of the limited choice available to the Australian selectors, but when one considered the number of Aussies in the lager it was time for reconsideration. Although it was true that the bulk of the POWs were from the British Isles, it was surprising the contribution made by Australia and Canada, considering their small populations. It was to be a three-day match with set intervals for lunch and tea, just like at Lords, despite the fact that there would be nothing to eat. Still tradition had to be complied with.
Australia won the toss and batted on what was supposed to be a perfect pitch, devoid of a blade of
grass. The dust heap had been swept and then rolled with petrol drums filled with water. The
Lancashire curator from C9 had declared it the best wicket he had seen outside Old Trafford, and there was a bag of runs to be had, but the English opening bowlers seemed to think otherwise and made the ball bounce and lift alarmingly.
Four Australian wickets tumbled for nine runs and then the boys from Down Under decided that it was time for bold tactics. They hit out lustily much to the crowd's delight and at lunch were five wickets for 113 runs, a useful start.
As there was no selling of scorecards, chocolates, cigarettes or matches during the break, the lager's
brass band entertained with such tunes as 'Colonel Bogey', 'Anchors Away' et cetera. Then some of the spectators, thinking that they could do better than the actual players, invaded the playing area and commenced a test match of their own on the holy of holies, the test wicket. This continued until the irate curator emerged from C9 and uprooted the test stumps in a bid to check the proceedings and force the invaders to take up positions behind the boundary. The abrupt ending of the game almost resulted in fisticuffs, but all ended well with the reappearance of the players.
The Australian batsmen pushed on, timing their shots and slogged the many loose deliveries, and were further aided and abetted by some poor English fielding - innumerable catches being dropped. So a respectable score of 197 was reached and Australia was well-satisfied.
The Englishmen batted as if they were at Lords, very correct and proper, but the wicket was
treacherous, bouncing, shooting and keeping ankle high, so were dismissed for a paltry forty-two.
Being forced to follow-on over 150 in arrears, they changed tactics and lashed out, but could only
muster 148. So the three-day match had ended in a day and the Aussies had won the test by an innings and seven runs. The blame was heaped on the ground staff and the curator, who had let the kriegies down. One day of cricket, when they were expecting three was poor and unforgiveable by anyone's standards.
The lights were out and the kriegies were relaxing in their pits after a day in the sun. The conversation generally centred itself on women, the war or the 'bin', but tonight the war took precedence.
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'I'll tell you what!' called out Bolland. 'For us this goddamn war will soon be over. The Ruskies will be
here and then we'll all go home via Moscow.'
'Bullshit!' interrupted Mackie, the Australian pilot who had topped scored in the recent test match.
'Listen mate, who the bloody hell wants to go home via Moscow? There'd be nowhere to go. It would be a dead end and they might keep us there for years.'
'We could no home via India or the Black Sea or some other route', explained Bolland tamely, who
had been temporarily set back on his heels by the Aussie's assertive statement. However, he gathered momentum for he was never nonplussed for long. 'Moscow will do me! Think of all those Russian women just waiting to meet a Canadian fighter pilot. I’ll be an instant success. Who the hell gives a shit where we go, as long as we get out of this bloody place?'
'I'm with you there, Canada.' replied Mackie. 'When you talk of 'sheilas', you're talking my kind of
language. We'll go well together, the perfect and irresistible combination. Me with my sun kissed body and you with your good looks. God! What a time we'll have!'
'What a lot of crap you bastards shovel around!' chipped in an interested listener. 'Mackie, when you
get to Moscow you'll be buggered. The lager diet makes you sterile and there won't be any women
interested in you.'
'Like bloody hell!' retorted the valiant Mackie. 'There's bugger all wrong with me. I'm as good a man
as ever I was. Who topped scored in the recent test? The old Bondi hero.' There were roars of laughter at this self-recommendation.
'Atta boy, Mackie! You give 'em heaps,' encouraged Bolland. 'We Aussies and Canucks must stick
together.'
Then the argument about possible evacuation continued far into the night, and the kriegies saw
everything through rose-coloured spectacles for hope sprang eternal in the prisoner's breast and the
'home by Christmas' mentality was very much to the fore.
The warmth and sunshine continued from day to day and the belief that for the prisoners the war was nearly over gained a stronger and stronger hold. It was inevitable that the Russians' westward drive would reach East Prussia in a matter of weeks, and so the intervening period was a time to be enjoyed and to prepare for freedom. However, fate can be unkind and it has a habit of jolting one's apathy and feelings of euphoria.
One night the kriegies were awakened by rifle shots, followed by a lot of commotion. The Russians
had arrived at last, but then things went quiet and returned to normal. It was discovered the next day that an American from C Lager had tried to escape by scaling the barbed wire entanglements and had been killed. The camp was saddened, for they felt that had he waited a little longer then rescue was inevitable. However, the shock brought to the fore the realisation that the war was not yet over and the casualties and deaths would continue to mount.
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CHAPTER XI
For two days a carnival atmosphere had pervaded the camp and an air of abandon possessed the
prisoners. The evacuation had been announced by the commandant at afternoon roll call, and the next day, C Lager had been cleared and the Americans dispatched to some unpronounceable place, deep in the heart of Germany. Within twenty-four hours, A Lager had moved out to an unknown destination, and these two large compounds were now empty, silent and ghostlike. Tomorrow was K's turn. The remaining prisoners were to be evacuated in two groups and sent their various ways. So now it was time for rejoicing, for it was the last day of incarceration and freedom beckoned in the guise that the war was as good as over. Admittedly, the kriegies' initial reaction to evacuation had been annoyance and frustration for hopes of deliverance had been pinned on the Ruskies and there had been visions of Moscow and a good time. Later, however, they had reasoned that the Germans must be on their last legs and had no hope of stemming the Russian advance westward, and further the overall position of an early release had been enhanced by the British and American successes in France.
Dave had been going over his few precious belongings and packing in readiness for the exodus.
Travelling space would be very limited and everything taken had to be carried, so one had to be
selective. The two blankets were a must, and so was the Red Cross food parcel which had been issued one to each person for the journey. Dave knew all about cattle trucks and the time taken to get from A to K. However, there would be a thousand prisoners involved this trip, and it could be a long time before the destination was reached and another issue of food given. The Germans wouldn't be catering on this trip - it was the food parcel and nothing else. Then there was the cigarette problem - how many to take? Dave had about 1200 in packets of 20, so he wouldn't leave any behind. He'd take those for they represented currency, but 60 packets of 20 made a bulky parcel. The knife, fork and spoon, plus the drinking mug and dish were vital, but when all were put together the luggage would be heavy, cumbersome and unwieldy. He possessed one pair of socks, a vest and pants as a change from what he was wearing, so they had to be taken too. The big question was, what to do with the RAF greatcoat, a Red Cross donation? At night it was his third blanket, but in the hot July of 1944 it looked strangely out of place and superfluous. If he took it, he would be weighted down like a packhorse and would sweat streams walking from the camp to the railway siding, their departure point. Then, again, he reasoned that the war was as good as over and there would be no second winter to endure. He rolled it into a ball, kept in place with string, and then loaded himself. The blankets and greatcoat went on his back, rucksack style, and the rest was carried by hand. He felt hot, buggered, and loaded to the gunwales. It would be hard work carrying his belongings in the heat of the sun, for it was bad enough just standing in the cool of B3. He debated with himself the necessity for the greatcoat's retention and decided to hang on to everything. If the worse came to the worse, he could throw the coat away.
Everything being ready for the morrow, he left the hut to join in the festivities. The whole world
seemed topsy-turvy. The Red Cross store had issued its whole stock of toilet paper rolls, as it couldn't be transported to the new camp, and so there was an abundance - about four rolls a person. The electricity and telephone wires were festooned with bunting as the rolls were thrown upwards draping everything and making a ticker-tape departure. Some of the bunting had even been thrown at the highstilted sentry boxes and now adorned these forbidding sentinels. Perhaps the drapery was symbolic of the contempt the prisoners had for Hitler's Germany and all it represented.
There were gramophone records or discs flying everywhere. Over the years the Red Cross had been
generous in this direction in an endeavour to cater for the musical needs of the deprived. In addition, many music lovers had preferred record parcels to cigarettes and so had accumulated vast stocks. It was impossible to transport these to the next camp, and so were being thrown in all directions, whizzing through the air like boomerangs. They were dangerous, too, so you had to tread warily or the head would go a-rolling. On the recreation ground one enterprising entrepreneur had set up a game of chance by sticking a piece of wood in the ground, draping it with a coat, and charging 20 cigarettes a go at trying to hit it at 30 yards’ distance with a record. The prize being 50 cigarettes. No one knew what he would do with the profits, for he certainly wouldn't be able to take them with him.
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The toilets seemed to have a very special attraction for the kriegies for, antlike and loaded with
cardboard boxes of cigarettes, they made pilgrimages to the 'bogs'. Here they would tip the 'currency' down into the shitty depths. They were throwing away fortunes which had, in some cases taken almost five years to amass, for it was no good to them now. They couldn't carry their loot with them and the alternative was to leave it for the enemy.
'Not bloody likely!' was the consensus of opinion. 'They'll get bugger all from me. If they want a
smoke, then they can have shit on it as well as arsehole aroma.'
The cigarettes were poured into this depository and the lager's wealth gradually disappeared. This
dissipation was a great economic leveller. The kriegies, who possessed fortunes, were now reduced to a common denominator, for wealth depended on the number of cigarettes you could transport, and after the essentials such as blankets, greatcoat et cetera, were taken into consideration, the amount of room for 'smokes' was roughly the same as everyone else's. Those who lacked lager 'gold' were now able to stock up from those divesting their fortunes in the morass and quagmire of the lager's 'rialto'.
Despite all the unusual things going on, tradition was hard to break and many prisoners were still
'bashing the circuit'. It seemed that years of habit couldn't be discarded overnight just because an
exodus was in the offing. Dull routine was an essential ingredient of lager life, and the swirling and
twisting records, plus reams of toilet paper strewn all over the place, couldn't deter the regimented.
However, the postern or sentry boxes weren't manned, and it was the first time that this state of affairs had existed so there was no-one to take a pot-shot at anyone infringing regulations, such as touching the warning wire et cetera. Indeed, down at the ablution block, scores of prisoners were doing their dhobi in preparation for the move and had cheekily hung the washing on the warning wire to dry, for there would be no retaliation.
The last night in B3 was full of speculation about the future. What would the morrow bring, and where were they going? Most agreed that it would be deep in the heart of Germany where they would come to rest and there would be no chance of escape. However, Mackie started an argument about repatriation. He tried to convince the inmates that the Germans no longer had the food to feed the prisoners in K Lager, and they would all be sent to Sweden, where they would remain until the end of the war. This line of argument was easy to swallow for everyone wanted it to happen, and so the more gullible gave Mackie their support. However, Bolland told Mackie that he was pissing down his leg and was being bloody stupid.
'Sweden! Mackie you must be joking.’ No-one knew whether Mackie was really in earnest, for he
often said things just to get a reaction and an argument going.
There was a lull for a few minutes as if everyone was contemplating the future. Sweden was just a
pipe dream, so the alternative was 'deep in the heart of Germany'.
'I'll tell you what, Mackie!' blurted Bolland. 'I know you give me the shits and the piles, but you're not a bad sort of bloke deep down. In fact, you'll do me, how about you and me staying behind tomorrow? Everyone pisses off, and we'll have the camp to ourselves, we could hide in the roof of the ablution block and wait for the Ruskies to come.'
'She'll be right, mate', came the Aussie's reply, 'but I wouldn't like to be stuck in the roof for a few
weeks. It would be too bloody hot. Besides your feet stink and I couldn't stand it and I'd give myself
up to the Germans.'
'We'll be in the ablution block, won't we?’ demanded Bolland.
'So I'll be able to slip down through the trap door and have a shower three times a day. Besides, it
wouldn't be a bad idea if you had a shower occasionally and then you could wash the piles out of your arse. They must give you hell. No wonder you're always scratching it.'
At this there were roars of laughter.
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'How about me joining you?' someone asked, good humouredly. 'What with the piles and the stinking feet, I feel you need a third person to keep up the morale.'
'Piss-off!' retorted Mackie. 'Me and Bolland want to be alone. Don't we? Haven't you heard we've got a thing going between us, and a third party would bugger things up?'
'For once I agree with you, Mackie,' was Bolland's laughing reply.
'We don't want anyone else. Two in the roof will be plenty.'
'By the way, Bolland, I see you've lost your mate, McDonald,' stated Mackie. 'Why the hell did he ship out with A Lager? Didn't he like you or something?'
'The cookhouse mob was moved out together with the A Lager bods, so McDonald went with them,'
was Bollard’s reply. 'I told him I'd see him when we got back to Canada, and the way the war's going,
it won't be long.'
So the banter went on until the early hours of the morning.
The next morning the men of C Block were counted, checked, rechecked, and then marched out of the camp - destination unknown. B Block received the same treatment about two hours later, and by noon were on their way to the railway siding about four kilometres distant. The day was hot and the August sun made Dave feel like a trussed rooster, especially with the blankets and greatcoat on his back and the Red Cross food parcel and other luggage to hand. It was hard work just putting one foot after the other and there were frequent stops for rests and the readjustment of luggage.
At the siding the cattle trucks were drawn up ready to receive the passengers, and on the platform were innumerable buckets of drinking water. Then the prisoners were herded into the trucks, the sliding doors closed, and they were sealed, signed, and ready to be transported. The instruction ‘8 Horses or 48 Men' seemed to have been stretched a little for there was precious little room for each person, without the accompanying luggage. Everyone was standing as if expecting the door to slide open, and the guard would yell, 'All change! All change!' However, there was no such call, and the train remained stationary at the siding, and the temperature within the trucks seemed to rise appreciably and the perspiration simply poured from everyone. It was sit down or fall down, and gradually everyone sat. The lucky ones had their backs supported by the sides of the truck, but those in the middle were less fortunate. The leg room was sufficient if drawn up, but once outstretched they brushed someone else or rested on top of another pair of legs, accompanied by: 'keep your bloody feet to yourself.'
Then the train started to move, and Dave heard Bolland say, 'Christ! This is where I came in. I've done it all before.'
'Me too, mate!' chorused Mackie.
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CHAPTER XII
The hot sun burned down on the weary, disconsolate marchers as they covered the distance from the railway station to the new camp. Although it was only four kilometres, the journey seemed endless, each plodding step requiring so much effort. The impedimenta; the blankets, the Red Cross parcel et cetera with which each person was burdened, seemed to weigh tons and became heavier with every movement, while the rays of the sun seemed to percolate to the very marrow to ooze perspiration all over. The long, bedraggled column limped its way along, watched only by a few disinterested pedestrians.
'So this is Poland!' mused Dave. 'The Germans can stuff it as far as I'm concerned.'
He felt exhausted and dispirited, despite the warmth of the day, for the journey had been a real bastard, Four days they had been cooped up in the cattle truck, only to be let out morning and evening to relieve themselves on the side of the railway tracks. The journey had been punctuated by stops and starts, and the stops had been often and lengthy. Once the sun had started to rise the temperature within the cattle truck rose appreciably until it became suffocating, especially if the train was at a standstill. The shortage of leg-room was acute for if you stretched out someone would place his legs on top of yours and so on, until yours were at the bottom of the pile and pins and needles occurred through lack of movement. Then they were extricated with difficulty and plonked on the top. This continuous game of musical chairs reminded Dave of a game he played as a child, when hands were placed on top of each other and the bottom hand was moved to the top in rotation.
In the end one would tire of the continual movement and withdraw from the contest by pulling the
knees into the stomach. However, when the knees and legs grew aching and tired in this position, the solution was either to stretch out again and become involved or stand up.
The water situation had also been a problem. Buckets of drinking water had been placed inside the
truck, but the movements of the train, especially the stoppings and starts had caused a certain amount of sloping and wastage. However, the urinal, the narrow gap caused by the partly open sliding door, was not in great demand for the perspiration was great and the warm weather placed no undue emphasis on the bladder.
The trek continued and Dave felt like discarding his greatcoat. Many of the prisoners had left theirs
behind in the lager or had dumped them somewhere along the route, feeling that they had a outlived their usefulness. The high temperature reinforced this feeling and Dave favoured the idea of following suit as it would make his load a lot lighter. He felt as if he were part of a mule train in a cowboy movie moving ponderously and laboriously towards the horizon. Still he had brought the coat this far, so he reasoned he'd hang on to it for another few kilometres.
Before entering their new abode, the prisoners were made to strip, their clothes searched, identity
checked by means of 'dog-tags' and then the gates opened and they were allowed to proceed. From
previous experience, the entry of new arrivals was always greeted by a large crowd who were
impatient to learn, at first hand, the latest news from home or, perhaps, were hoping to meet someone whom they had known, previously on the squadron or from their home town. Thus the intermingling of the old and the new was generally a slap-backing occasion with animated discussions. However, there was no welcoming party here, and there prevailed a complete indifference to the new arrivals. The prisoners were led along a sandy track and on each side, dotted here and there, were detached huts - a far cry from the terraced type of the previous camp. The compound was huge and seemed to sprawl endlessly, lacking cohesion and togetherness. This could be attributed to the lack of barbed wire. At the previous camp there had been lagers all separated from each other, thus giving rise to closely knit communities, but here there was no separation and one could wander at will.
Dave enjoyed his new home for the weather was hot and there was freedom of movement. The camp was for soldiers, but this ruling had been waived to accommodate the newcomers. Thus, in his
wanderings, Dave met men who had been far removed from his path in life. There were Dunkirk
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heroes, the forgotten men of yesterday, who had fought on the beaches seemingly years ago and had spent the intervening years in different parts of the Greater German Reich. There was McLeod, a
grizzled, old army veteran, who had served in India, frequented the brothels of Hong Kong, caught
gonorrhoea in Singapore and been baked to a cinder in Aden. Shipped home in time for the
commencement of World War II, his military career had come to an abrupt halt when captured in
France in 1940.
A very relaxed atmosphere pervaded the whole compound and here things differed considerably. It
seemed that one was allowed to trade with the Germans for there were numerous stalls about the place where one could purchase - providing you had the cigarettes - eggs, bread, margarine, vegetables and some fruit. However, the airmen's currency had dwindled and there were few buyers amongst the flyers. The biggest entrepreneurs were a combination called 'Burly and Bill', who owned a fairly large premise and seemed to have a monopoly on the more desired foodstuffs. Where they obtained it no one seemed to know, but at times they had small fish for sale and even one or two chickens. All the other traders seemed poor relations in comparison and didn't possess the contacts that the partnership had. Still, it seemed that racketeers existed everywhere, even in a German POW camp.
Most of the army prisoners were employed during the day on neighbouring farms or in local factories and this contact with the outside world helped to facilitate trade. Further, it was the essential ingredient that destroyed the rule of ' no trading with the enemy', which had prevailed and been strictly adhered to by the airmen when in East Prussia. The lassez-faire attitude which permeated the camp after the strict regimen of East Prussia was, at first, difficult to get used to, but, nevertheless, it was something new and tended to break the monotony of confinement.
The weather continued hot and dry, and so the hunger pangs assailing the stomach were appeased to a certain extent and Dave was free to wander over the sand wastes comprising the camp. The terrain reminded him of the dunes of the Porthcawl area back in his native Wales, where he had always spent his annual holiday as a boy. However, here there was no sea to bathe in.
The hut housing Dave was parked on its own and contained twenty-four two tiered bunks and the newfound freedom existed even here. There was no six o'clock curfew when the doors were locked and no piss-bin to generate controversy. One could sleep in the sand if desired and also use it as a urinal at night.
Most of the old B3 crew were still together in the hut. At night there were no longer a gramophone and records to entertain, so it was chit-chat about the new acquaintances and experiences.
'Jesus, I'd hate to be one of those Dunkirk wallahs. Fancy being in the cage nearly five years, it would
drive you mad. You wouldn't know what your cock was for after all that time. Their kids will be
grown up and married by the time they get back to Blighty, and God knows what their wives have
been doing,' stated Bolland in his nightly communiqué on the state of the camp.
'Bullshit, mate!' retorted Mackie. 'Most of the poor buggers are wire happy. When you've been behind barbed wire as long as they have you don't want to get out. This place represents security and when you grow old you don't look for challenges.'
'What a lot of crap you blokes spray about. If I were in this bloody country a hundred years, I'd still
want to get back to good old Manchester and the girlfriend,' interposed Slater.
'If you were here for a hundred years, it wouldn't be worth going back,' chuckled Blackston. 'You're a
cockless old wreck now without waiting all that time.'
'Talking about calling the kettle black!' retorted Slater. 'Yours almost disappeared under the 'waterfall' the other day.'
'Shit! That bloody waterfall would freeze King Kong's waterspout to the size of a peanut and make
him forget sex for six months. It's the coldest, bloody thing I've ever known. Jesus, you need to be mad
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to go under that,' joined in Bill Welling’s, a native of Liverpool, who had been a prisoner almost two
years.
Welling’s was a man of few words, but he managed to extract a laugh when he made a pronouncement.
The 'waterfall' consisted of a huge, iron, corrugated tank placed on a wooden platform about twentyfeet off the ground and supported by four large poles. In the base of the tank was a spring trap door from which dangled a piece of wire. The kriegies would shower by standing under the tank, hold their breath, and then jerk the wire. The icy water would cascade down, drowning the bather, who would be forced to release the wire, thus closing the trap. The water must have been pumped from the bowels of the earth for it was freezing and you needed an hour to regain breath and composure.
The lull in conversation was broken by Danzey's voice. 'Talk about waterspouts and sex, that bloody
McLeod has done everything and everybody and has caught a few surprise packets along the way. He was telling us about when he was stationed in India. The white women were all hoity-toity being
officers’ wives et cetera and the men of other ranks were left out in the cold. So he had to resort to the brothels, and, boy, were his descriptions vivid and colourful.’
'Did he tell you how he caught gonorrhoea in Singapore and the antics he had to go through to make
himself clean again? He must have felt like a bloody pincushion by the time the treatment was over,'
added Bolland. 'Christ! The poor old bugger must be sixty, and after nearly forty years of soldiering
he's still only a corporal.'
'What do you expect?' demanded Welling’s. 'He wasn't interested in promotion. His priorities were sex, brothels and clap, and now he's only got his memories. Poor bastard!'
'I knew a bloke like that back in Sydney,' reminisced Mackie. 'He'd strut about Bondi Beach in his
swimmers and all the sheilas would be crazy about him. He had sex for breakfast, lunch and dinner
and then he'd have it for afters as well if it were around. Jesus, he thought a lot of himself! Always
combing his bloody hair. He'd leave McLeod for dead.'
'What happened to him?' asked Danzey innocently.
'Poor bastard caught nearly everything going,' replied Mackie, 'and passed on most of it. He died early. Just couldn't stand the pace.'
'You talk a lot of horseshit, Mackie,' stated Bolland bluntly. 'This Bondi Romeo of yours just wasn't
good enough. He's dead, but McLeod's alive. So who's the better man for Christ sake?'
'You blokes are sex crazy,' interrupted Blackston, 'Let's talk about something interesting, like the war
and when we'll get out of here.'
'Hell! You're a bloody comic, Blackston, 'laughed Danzey. 'Here we've been having a bloody
interesting conversation and you have to get back to reality and ordinary things. You give my piles a
twist, and believe me they're sore enough as it is.'
'Talking about piles,' joined in Slater, 'my arsehole has been giving me hell lately. It's this bloody diet.
You get nothing to open up the old bowels. When I have a shit it's like trying to pass red hot daggers
through the eye of a needle.'
'You poor bastard!' sympathised Welling’s. 'I have the same problem so I know what it's like. If you
could get some ruddy ointment it would be a help.'
'Why don't you go and see old McLeod?' asked Bolland laughingly. 'He's got a cure for everything,
and they tell me he's a bit of a surgeon as well. He might be able to operate on you both in between
telling his life's history and his brothel adventures. It would add to his status if he could put up a sign
stating that he was a haemorrhoid specialist as well as a pox doctor's clerk.'
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'You're a real bastard, Bolland. You've no sympathy for anyone', said Mackie, entering into the fray.
'You can thank your lucky stars that you're tucked away in a POW camp or you'd be poxed up to the
eyebrows by now. The war's saved you, Bolland.'
'I don't know about the pox,' returned Bolland gallantly, 'but hells, bloody bells I want a piss. I'll have
to go outside and study the stars for a few minutes. Don't hold your breath while I'm away, and for
Christ sake give old McLeod a rest.'
Bolland exited to roars of laughter, and then a silence fell on the hut as each person took refuge in his private thoughts and world.
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CHAPTER XIII
Bill Welling’s and Dave were walking about the camp, neither saying much. The sun was hot and its
warmth comforting and soothing. Dave knew all about Welling's background. He hailed from
Liverpool and possessed the inimitable Liverpuddlian accent. Before the war he had worked as a clerk with a shipping firm and had hated the dull routine and regimen the daily task imposed. It was eight till five, and often no-one was prepared to leave until the head clerk had downed tools and quit. Then it was on to the RAF, where he had graduated as a bomb aimer. Mission had followed mission, and he felt that he had a charmed life and, like all aircrew personnel, was indestructible. However, a raid on Essen had proven his undoing. The bombs had been delivered and the return flight seemed a piece of cake, when the Lancaster had been mortally wounded by cannon shells from an enemy fighter. The crew baled out coming down in Belgium, but had been scattered. The next morning, while Bill was walking along a country road, he was approached by a young woman who asked in English was he a member of the plane that had been shot down the previous night. Being in RAF battledress and feeling that the girl was sympathetic and friendly, he admitted that he was. She then led him to a small house about 2 kilometres distant, where he bathed, ate and was given civilian clothing. The Germans had occupied nearly every Western European nation and the penalty for harbouring the enemy was death. Thus the family housing Bill was exceedingly brave. On the third day, Bill was given instructions to walk straight down the road for about a kilometre where he'd see a man standing with a bicycle and his hat in his left hand. He was to follow him at a respectable distance and on no account was he to communicate or make any sign of recognition. This person would lead him to his new sanctuary. The journey was quite long, but worth it for on arrival at his new abode he was reunited with his skipper and navigator, looking strangely out of place in civilian clothes instead of the customary officer's uniform. There was a joyous reunion and questions asked and answered about the other members of the crew. Apparently, all had baled successfully, but the rest of the crew had been picked up by the enemy who were still scouring the area for the three evaders. They were confined to the house for a week and exercised indoors, played cards, slept and ate. Then the escape routine was repeated by walking to the railway station - being previously provided with tickets - boarding a train that went to Brussels and so finishing up in the capital. This journeying from place to place went on until they reached an hotel in Paris, where the Gestapo swooped and rounded up not only the three in question, but also about twenty other evading airmen. Then it was to Fresnes, the Gestapo prison in Paris.
'Fresnes must have just about driven you mad, Bill? Dave said unexpectedly. 'I know I would have
gone bonkers if they'd locked me up there.'
'Dave, you've got no idea of what it's like. I tell you I nearly went around the bend. When you're
locked up in solitary with no-one to confide in, your troubles seem mountainous and insoluble. It's
either very quiet, not a sound, or you hear some poor bastard wailing or crying. The Gestapo were
either beating shit out of him or he'd gone off his head. It wasn't hard to do.'
'Did they beat you, Bill?'
'No, they didn't actually inflict any physical punishment, I suffered mentally. They interrogated me
about the Underground and where had I been? Whose house had I been in? What were the names of the people who had cared for me et cetera? Thank God I didn't know. No-one told us their real names or where we were, as they felt it was better that way. I was scared stiff they might take me back to where I was shot down and try and make me find the place where I went first. I freeze up when I think of it. One piece of information and they'd unravel the knot and then God help the Resistance.'
'Your six weeks must have seemed like years, Bill?'
'It was the longest and worst six weeks of my life. Jesus, I feel sorry for Docker, he was in Fresnes ten
months. No wonder the poor bastard is as grey as a badger and he's only twenty-three. They must have given him the treatment.'
'What do you intend doing when the war's over? Is it back to the shipping office?'
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'Like bloody hell! I just couldn't stand the monotony. I'd tell the head clerk to get stuffed. The
pompous arsehole. A little power makes some people drunk. He ought to be in aircrew, then he'd be
levelled out.'
The two walked on, and then Dave suggested, as they were in the vicinity, that they drop in on
Corporal McLeod and find out what crap he was shooting around. The grand old man, as usual
surrounded by his devotees or those who wanted a laugh to relieve the monotony, was expatiating
upon his favourite topic. He'd just been asked what gonorrhoea was like and how it affected one, and his reply was vivid, humorous and colourful. Then the crowd dispersed.
'How are you today, Mac?' enquired Bill.
'Bloody awful! I feel like my guts have been taken out, chopped up, salted and peppered, and then put back in and my belly sewn up with a red hot poker. Jesus, I feel sick!'
'It's your past catching up with you, Mac,' said Dave jocularly. 'They say that too much poking doesn't do anyone any good, and it tends to rot the guts and the penis.'
'Horseshit!' was McLeod's emphatic reply. 'There's nothing wrong with my cock. It's as good as ever it was, for it's been in retirement for five years, but my guts are giving me hell. It's this bloody food and the flies. They eat you alive and shit all over the food, so what do you expect? It's a wonder we're not all dead.'
'We'll be out of here before long, Mac, and then everything will be peaches,' comforted Bill. 'You can
go back to Singapore for another dose of clap, and I'm for Blighty.'
'You're a bloody optimist then. We'll be here for years yet, and the Japs will be in Singapore for
another decade. There's too much on our plate. Shit, my gut is killing me! I'm off to the quack. I
haven't time to educate bastards like you,' and with that McLeod took his farewell, leaving Bill and
Dave a little crestfallen at the news imparted.
They made off in the direction of their hut, neither saying much but ruminating upon McLeod's
prophecy of the war's ending. Dave felt he couldn't and didn't want to do another winter as a captive. The bloody cold went through you and your state of health was deteriorating. The diet and privations took their toll and this was evident by the number of repatriations. When X-rayed by the Red Cross doctors the incidence of tuberculosis had been high amongst those who had been prisoners for a number of years. There were too many problems ahead and Dave didn't relish the future.
Dave broke the silence. 'What do you think about McLeod's forecast!'
'You mean about the war dragging on? McLeod gives me the shits. He's always crapping on about
something he knows bugger all about. He should stick to sex and not make pontifical statements about the military situation.'
'The war news is good in the West. The British and American armies are screwing the balls off the
Germans and Montgomery is showing the Yanks how a modern war should be fought. It's the Eastern front I can't fathom. When we came here in July, the Ruskies were steamrolling their way eastwards and it looked like Warsaw would fall. And what happened? We heard on the BBC news the Russians had asked the Polish Underground to rise up, take over the city and kill the German garrison. The Ruskies were only about 30 kilometres from the outskirts of Warsaw at that time, and what have they done since? Bugger all! They've just sat on their arseholes and kept a friendly eye on things, while the poor old Poles are being slaughtered. Buggered if I can understand it.'
'Don't worry, Dave!' Old Stalin's a cunning bastard. He's most probably giving his armies a breather
and regrouping. You watch within a week they'll be on the march again.'
'He'd better pull his finger out then or there won't be any Poles in Warsaw left to liberate.'
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The news from the East was disconcerting and worrying for the advance from that direction had come to a complete halt in the Central sector. Both Dave and Bill hated the thought of enduring another winter in captivity. It was hot now, but in the bitter cold of a European winter your body cried out for nourishment in the form of a good meal and warmth in the shape of a bed and plenty of blankets.
'Jesus, Bill, McLeod said that the Japs will still be fighting in ten years’ time. We'll be a fine pair of
bastards if the European war goes on even half that time. It won't be worth going home, for no-one
will want us.'
'You can say that again, Dave. We'll be the forgotten men of yesterday, and even our girlfriends will
have given us the big heave-ho. Just my luck!'
'Don't worry. She'll be waiting for you, Bill, even in five years’ time. You told me that Mary was
something out of the top drawer, so there's no need for second thoughts on the matter.'
'I haven't had a letter for three months. A man's morale needs reassuring from time to time, and mail from home is the best booster there is.'
Dave knew this to be true for he hadn't received a letter for several weeks and felt discarded and
unwanted. Perhaps Joan had forgotten; found someone else; a mess pot was on the way et cetera. It
was a topsy-turvy world with everyone being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Here he was in
German Occupied Europe while he longed to be in Wales. Then, again, the Yanks, Australians,
Canadians et cetera were in England and, he supposed, wished to be back on native soil. The thought of so many eligible men parading around back home gave rise to further apprehension – Joan could be married to an American by the time he was out of the cage. Everything was so uncertain and unpredictable. The war, according to the kriegies, was always going to be over by Christmas, but it seemed never-ending. If there was a definite date that one could look forward to then the uncertainty would disappear and the mind set at ease. However, each big military advance by the Allies buoyed the confidence, only for it to be seriously deflated by a reversal, such as the inexplicable lack of movement by the Russian armies in front of Warsaw. What could the Ruskies be doing? Surely, they ought to go on with the advance and help the Polish Resistance in that city? Dave felt depressed, but had no wish to convey his thoughts to Bill. Everyone had his problems, despite the bravado, the sexual anecdotes by McLeod, Bolland, Mackie et cetera, and the feigning of indifference when the mess pot arrived. However, Dave consoled himself that shifting from camp to camp wouldn't help the delivery of letters and, further, no mail had been received by him from anyone, so no news was good news.
'What's wrong, Dave? queried Bill. 'Got the shits or something. You seem unusually quiet.'
'Bugger all's wrong with me.' lied Dave. 'Let's go back to the hut for I'm going to have a shower.'
'You wouldn't catch me going under the bloody 'waterfall', it would turn my balls into ice-blocks. The
sudden change in temperature can't be good for them. I reckon you become sterile if you had too many of those cold showers.'
'How else do you shower then, Bill? There are no hot showers or they haven't told us about them.
These soldier wallahs might be keeping it a secret. Jesus, in the winter I'd just stink. I wouldn't be able to stand the waterfall. Too bloody cold.'
'Okay, let's go! And don't forget I warned you about becoming sterile.'
'Piss off! I'll tell you what? I'll consult with McLeod about the effect of cold water on the knackers.
He's sure to tell me an interesting tale,' laughed Dave.
The repartee about testicles, sterility and McLeod had helped to liven things up and make the two of
them forget temporarily their personal problems,
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CHAPTER XIV
It was early October and the kriegies had been in their new camp almost three weeks. The advancing
Russians had finally ensured the evacuation of the Polish setup, and the procedure repeated: the walk to the railway siding; the incarceration in the cattle trucks; the seemingly endless journey of four days; the confined and cramped conditions; the disembarking and walk to the new camp; and, finally, the checking of identity and search et cetera before admittance. It was like seeing the screening of a movie for the umpteenth time.
The new 'home' was situated in the middle of the North German Plain and so, according to the German guards, was safe from the Russians and equally safe from the Allies. The guards were adamant that here the prisoners would remain until the Germans were victorious. No more moves, no more cattle trucks et cetera, as the Fuhrer wouldn't allow any enemy of the Third Reich to tread on German soil.
The camp was bleak and miserable in outlook, being divided into several lagers. However, there was
no restriction of entry. The huts were terraced-typed, similar to those in East Prussia and each
contained 36 two tiered bunks. Perhaps the biggest difference was the soil, which was a dark loam and contrasted sharply with the sand of the previous camps. It only needed a little rain and the tracks became boggy and the boots muddied with damp, clinging mud. However, it was still autumn and the winter and its damp seemed a long way off.
The terraced huts faced each other in long rows and at the farther end of the so-made thoroughfares was a detached ablution block with no shower facilities. Then another 30 yards on, away from everything, was the communal deep-pit, which served not only as a toilet but as the hub of misinformation and rumour. At the other extremity, placed in the middle of each 'street', was a small wooden shed containing a water tap which was attached to a pipe rising about three feet from the ground. This was used for filling buckets so that clothes et cetera could be washed, and also for
showering by sitting or kneeling under the tap and soaping oneself at the same time.
The camp, to the discerning, spelt future despair, hardship and privation, but that didn't worry the
prisoner for he dealt with one day at a time, and, anyway, he'd be home tomorrow. The store of Red
Cross parcels had been brought with them from Poland, but it was already rumoured that there was
only enough for an issue of one per person for so many weeks. After that a parcel would have to be
shared by two, three, four or more. Still, no-one wanted to believe it, so it was put down as a rumour
emanating from the shithouse and so had no credibility. The kriegies' mentality was similar to that of
an ostrich. When something was unpalatable then one chose to ignore it and stick one's head in the
sand. At the previous camps, coal in the form of briquettes had been supplied for warmth in the hut
and cooking in the communal kitchen. Here, however, there was no supply and no cookhouse, and fuel for heating and cooking was dependent on two persons from each hut being allowed out daily under a guard to forage for wood in the forests. Consequently, the fire in the big stove was not lit until evening when it became colder and it was time for the evening meal. In the relative warmth of early October this didn't matter so much, but in bitterly cold December, January and February it would be a different tale.
No-one was allowed out to work on neighbouring farms et cetera and so there was a dearth of extras in the shape of additional food, forcing the entrepreneurs of the former camp to close shop. There was nothing to trade and this was accentuated by the lack of kriegie currency, the cigarette, which had dwindled alarmingly in recent weeks. Further, the camp possessed no theatre where bands could perform or a production could be enacted, so there was no relief from the boredom and monotony of the daily round. When in East Prussia hot showers had been permitted once a week, while in Poland the only shower facilities had been those of the 'waterfall'. Still the icy, cold water was of little consequence in the hot weather and it mattered little. However, the showers here were situated in the outer lager and a visit was permitted once every three weeks. In between times, one was expected to sluice under the cold water tap in the little hut. The lack of a communal kitchen added to the difficulties of everyday living. Previously the tins of meat from each Red Cross parcel had been extracted, given to the cooks who had prepared the evening meal by either mixing the meat with
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potatoes to form a hash or issuing a quarter of a tin of meat per man. Now the complete parcel was
given, plus a daily issue of two potatoes, and the recipient left to his own devices. So combines or
groups of two, three or four were formed to overcome cooking problems. The individual kept such
edibles as chocolate, biscuits, sugar, tinned milk et cetera, but pooled the tinned stuff.
Despite the difficulties and the approach of the late autumn, the inmates were reasonably happy. They were convinced that they would be home for the festive season so a few temporary hardships were a bagatelle. The optimism that prevailed was high and little could dampen the outlook of the airmen. Admittedly, there had been, in lager parlance, a minor temporary setback, but it was nothing. The Allied forces in the West had made spectacular advances in July, August and September, forcing the Germans to withdraw to the defences of the Siegfried line. Something daring had to be done to hasten the end of the war and prevent a stalemate, so Operation Market Garden was carried out. Airborne British, Polish and American troops were dropped to secure bridges over the Rhine at Nijmegen, Eindhoven and Arnhem to find a route into the heart of Germany. However, success evaded the paratroopers, the British First Airborne Division being badly mauled at Arnhem and forced to withdraw on the 25th September and the mission aborted. The kriegies still received the BBC news, having brought the radio receiver from East Prussia via Poland, and were elated with the early successes of Market Garden. Then when the setbacks occurred there was a general souring and remarks like: 'Pull your bloody finger out for Christ sake!' 'What the bloody hell are you doing?’ et cetera. No-one, however, interpreted the writing on the wall as another winter to be endured in
captivity. That was too brutal a conclusion, despite the evidence of the approaching winter which,
would curtail tank warfare, aerial support for ground forces, and bring about a general lull on the
Western front. Christmas at home was the eternal attraction and, besides, the Ruskies revelled in the snow and if the British and Yanks were not good enough, then Joe Stalin's boys would be in and
through Germany like a dose of salts.
Now a six o'clock curfew applied and the doors of the huts were locked and no-one was allowed out,
so there was always a crowd around the big fuel stove in the centre of the room.
'Shit this place is getting bloody colder and colder,' stated Mackie.! I wish I were back on good old
Bondi basking in the sun and casting my eye over the sheilas. '
'You talk a lot of crap, Mackie!' retorted Danzey. 'You're always on about Bondi. I'd take Blackpool
anytime. The girls there are really something.'
'Blackpool, for Christ sake!' interjected Bolland. 'It nearly killed me. I was there for four weeks and
that's all I did was square-bash: ‘Right turn! Left turn! Squad!’ et cetera, and the wind never stopped
blowing. I thought my face was a piece of eroded rock by the time I was ready to leave.'
'Eroded cock, you meant' exclaimed Slater laughingly. 'I've often wondered why you look so queer,
and now I know. You're the same at both ends. Very good looking.'
At this there were roars of laughter, followed by a hush as the bystanders attended to the cooking pots. There was a variety of edibles all in different stages of readiness. Those near the actual fire were boiling merrily, while others, on the periphery of the stove, were stagnating and no movement was visible amongst the contents.
'This bloody wood is no good for cooking No body to it,' someone said. 'Anyway, there's never enough of it. Two blokes go out to collect in the forest and what they come back with is bugger all. Who were the bastards who went out today?'
'I'm one of the bastards,' a voice belligerently stated from one of the bunks. 'And what's it to you?'
'The next time,' came the answer, 'pull you finger out and bring something back worth burning. This
bloody stuff is not worth a crumpet.'
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'What do you expect? You're only allowed to pick up the dead stuff, and a man can only carry so
much. Wait till it's your turn to have a go.'
Again there was a lull in the conversation and a general departure from the stove area, leaving the one or two who were left the opportunity of moving their pot to a more favourable position nearer the source of heat. This was done by substituting yours for one that was already boiling or squeezing it in somewhere by creating space. This would cause arguments, accompanied by much banter, when the wronged person discovered what had taken place.
'Eh, Slater! Have you got your bags packed?' shouted Welling’s from his bunk. 'We'll be out of here
before the end of the month.'
'Who says so? Not that fake Maxie Clarke again? No-one listens to him anymore. He's a false prophet and the biggest phoney in the camp.'
'No, not him. It's in Revelations'.
'Who's he, for Christ sake?' asked Slater. 'Some sort of Gestapo boss who beats shit out of you with a
toothpick.'
'God, you're ignorant, Slater! How the hell did you ever become a member of aircrew? No,
Revelations is the last book in the Bible and tells you what's happened and when this war's going to
finish.'
'Where did you learn that crap?' queried Bolland.'
' Old Taylor in next door told me about it. He even read me the passages from the Bible, and his
interpretation of the white leader coming from the East and vanquishing the black Satan. He's
convinced the war will finish this month.'
'Old Taylor, be buggered. He's only 23 and already three parts around the bend. I don't know what's
come over you blokes,' continued Bolland, 'you'll believe anything.'
'Me and Bolland are the only two in this hut that have our feet on the ground,' supported Mackie. 'We don't listen to shithouse rumours, do we, Bolland? 'We'll be here for Christmas now that we've
received a walloping at Arnhem. Hell, we copped a hiding there! There'll be little military activity now that winter's nearly here.'
At this there were cries of protest from many parts of the hut, for this was realism and spelt out
another Christmas in captivity. Something no-one wanted.
'It was the British First Airborne Division that was dropped at Arnhem, wasn't it?' demanded
Blackston. 'I've got a brother-in-law, married to my sister, a paratrooper. I hope the hell he wasn't in
that lot or my sister will go bonkers. She worries all the time.'
'That bloody Montgomery wants gelding!' exploded Danzey. 'In September they made him a field
marshal and he's done bugger all since. I suppose he thought up the caper of capturing the bridges over the Rhine. I hope he's got another plan up his sleeve.'
'He's a brilliant bloody soldier,' added Welling’s. 'He gave Rommel's balls a'tingling in North Africa
and wrapped up that theatre of war in a hurry.'
'I was in that campaign and did we give Rommel a hiding from the air,' volunteered Sandy Smith. 'The Afrika Corps didn't know whether they were coming or going by the time we'd finished with them. There was only one road across the desert and it was pie-easy to bomb and strafe the German trucks and supplies. There was wreckage everywhere.'
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'If it was so easy, how come you finished up here? demanded Slater. 'I suppose you were invited and
too polite to knock back the invitation.'
'Something like that,' was Sandy's reply. 'We all get the chop sooner or later. Don't we, Slater?'
'Give me those Russian generals every time,' Bolland remarked. 'They know what they're about. Don't they, Mackie?'
'I'll take the Americans,' answered the Aussie just to be controversial. 'Eisenhower is Monty's boss, so it stands to reason he's better. And that Patton with his six-shooters -- now that's what I call
flamboyant. Then there was MacArthur with that bloody hat of his. When he arrived in Aussie to save us all down-under, my Mum thought he was the handsomest thing in breeches, and he was about sixty then, for Christ sake. Shows you what flamboyancy can do for you.'
So the meal preparation went on, interspersed with pontifical statements and a lot of crap.
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CHAPTER XV
It was bitterly cold, but the ground was not iron hard, as two days previously there had been some rain making the soil soft and clinging. The surface had been churned up by the tramp of thousands of feet and, although icy on the surface, cracked with the weight of the foot, oozing water from the soft, clammy interior. The boots of the three walkers were mud-soddened and looking the worse for wear.
'Eh, Dave! I told you we should have given our morning constitutional a miss. Look at my bloody
boots! I'll never be able to dry them out or the socks.'
'Stop griping, Slater!' was Dave's retort. 'If you don't bash the circuit, you lie on the pit and start
thinking of the outside world and then you're like a bear with a sore head. A brisk morning walk will
give you an appetite.'
'It's no good having an appetite if there's bugger all to eat!' interjected Welling’s. 'If I'd stayed in the pit and wrapped the blankets around me, I'd be conserving energy and keeping my hunger at bay. No-one seems to play sport anymore. The recreation field is always empty, not like it used to be when we were in East Prussia.'
'No-one's got any energy left,’ remarked Dave, 'we're all on our knees. Since I've been sharing my
weekly parcel with you bastards, I get nothing to eat.'
'Bullshit!' snorted Slater. 'Look how healthy you are compared with Welling’s and me. I reckon you
must be getting something on the side that we don't know about.'
'Wish the hell I was. Jesus, look at me! I was twelve stone when I was shot down and now I'd be lucky to make ten. If this war doesn't finish soon, I’ll lose another couple of stone and be like Gandhi.'
'You and Welling’s are shit lucky,' stated Slater, 'you still have your greatcoats. You're wrapped up like a pair of teddy bears, while I'm the poor relation.'
'They're a good third blanket, too.' gloated Welling’s, 'they help to keep rigor mortis at bay, especially at about two in the morning.'
'I nearly threw mine away,' volunteered Dave. 'The sun was so hot in July and August that I thought
that the cold had gone forever, and the coat was an anachronism - something like a bathing costume in Antarctica. Thank God, I hung on to it! I suppose it's my Welsh intuition that saved me.'
'What a load of bulldust you throw in people's eyes, Dave Griffin. You're just lucky, you bastard,'
scoffed Slater. 'Anyway, your Welsh intuition didn't help you with the flying boots. You raffled those
and then had to throw the proceeds down the bog. .'
'Listen to who's talking! Slater, you helped me raffle them, and then took half the cigarettes. A fine,
bloody friend, you are,' concluded Dave humorously, 'you should have persuaded me to hang on to
them.'
'My feet are bloody freezing and my socks are wet,' protested Slater. 'When we get to the hut I'm going in and wrapping the blankets around them. I don't want frostbite.'
'It's not your feet that you have to watch, Slater, it's your cock,' explained Welling’s. 'If the frost gives it a nip you'll be done for. It remains blue forever. They'll call you the 'Blue Boy'. Your girlfriend will
have the shock of her life when you're honeymooning or whatever you call it. She'll take one look at it and return to mother.'
For a while the three of them couldn't stop laughing, and then Dave interrupted the mirth with, 'My
ruddy socks are wet, too. I've only got one other pair and they're a bit holey. Hells bells, it's hard to dry
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things around here. I'll be coming in with you, Slater, when we reach the hut or my feet will be
knackered.'
'I don't know about your feet, but my boots need a pep-talk,' added Welling’s. 'They'll take a year to dry and, in the meantime, I'll have to hobble around the hut in stockinged feet. Hell, those cobbled stones are as cold as icebergs. Shit, I wish I could have a square meal, a hot shower, and then get into a warm bed with white, clean sheets. I'd sleep forever. I wouldn't care if I died as long as I was full, warm and had sheets. They're the things a man misses. I'm fed up with a sack filled with wood shavings for a pillow- it doesn't do the skin any good, and the blankets are filthy. God knows who had them before me. When I get up in the morning my face and neck are black from the bloody things.'
'That's because you never wash,' volunteered Dave. 'Don't blame the blankets for your lack of hygiene.'
'Talk about getting up in the morning, have you noticed McKenzie's face of late?' queried Slater. 'It
seems swollen and puffed up.'
'McKenzie's face is not the only one that's swollen when he gets up, I could name you at least ten more in the hut,' added Welling’s. 'Someone told me it's due to diet and lack of vitamins. The face becomes normal by noon. It's the kriegies who have been in the cage for years who are suffering. Some of them are losing their hair. It comes out in tufts. I saw a handful come out of Gerry William’s pate the other day. It gave me a bloody shock. The teeth also work lose.'
'Shit!' exploded Dave. 'I hope I don't go home bald and toothless! I couldn't stand it,' and then added, 'I'd buy a wig - a black one with a few silver streaks to make me look distinguished.’
And the three of them turned into the cold, miserable hut to obtain some form of succour.
The numbers in the camp had continued to grow and the huts became badly overcrowded as more twotiered
beds were squeezed in to accommodate the newcomers. Most of these were tough, vigorous air
borne soldiers who had fought in Operation Market Garden. Some had been glider pilots, others
paratroopers. They looked very professional in their red-devil berets and airborne insignia, contrasting
sharply with the underfed prisoner of a number of years. The news, according to the paratroopers, was
that the war couldn't finish until the summer of '45, as there would be a comparative lull during the
present winter, which would be used for regrouping and replenishing the Allied armies for the spring
offensive. This, of course, was a bitter pill for the old timers to swallow, as they found it unpalatable
and still argued that the war would be over by Christmas, which was only five weeks or so away. They
supported their arguments by referring to the predictions of the camp's visionaries, such as Maxie
Clarke; Old Taylor, the Bible-basher; and a new prophet, Charlie Haynes, who propounded the very
acceptable and palatable forecast that the Russians would arrive at the camp on Boxing Day and
liberate the kriegies. This was just what the doctor ordered, and so he was regarded as the Messiah and the greatest. Charlie Haynes had predicted, according to his adherents, the date of the D. Day landing; the Allies speedy advance across France; the failure of the Market Garden operation, and so had gathered disciples as his fame spread. Whether he had predicted what had eventuated was problematic, for no-one had been around at the time, except his bosom mates. Still, Charlie, as he was affectionately called, was now the vogue and regarded as number one.
The usual crowd was around the fuel stove either warming their backsides or tending to the cooking
pots, while the conversation ranged over a hundred and one topics.
'The elite of aircrew served in the Western Desert,' crapped on Sandy Smith. 'We were specially
selected for the job of driving Rommel back across Libya and out of North Africa. The Afrika Corps
were top class. They chased British general after British general back to Cairo, and it wasn't until
Montgomery took over the Eighth Army and Tedder the Air Force that we gave them curry. Those
were the days. Hitting hard the German supply lines in the desert, and leaves in Cairo. You blokes
don't know what life's all about.'
'You give me the shits, Smith!' exploded Mackie. 'The elite of aircrew, specially selected et cetera,
what bullshit! I wanted to be posted to the Middle East, so I'd get it easy. Just flying and strafing
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unprotected trucks and jeeps would be a piece of cake. No opposition. Bomber Command was tough
and for men only. Flying over Germany was not for powder-puffs. We'd battle our way to the target
and then fight our way home. Talk about the Desert Air Force, that was for geriatrics.'
Jack Tennant, a former Coastal Command pilot, then entered the fray. 'The real men of the Royal Air
Force were all in Coastal. Flying over those freezing, slatey grey waves was no picnic. If you had
engine trouble over the Atlantic, there was nowhere to go. We couldn't bale out like you bums, we had to tough it out. You desert rats and bomber boys had soft numbers. You ought to get some flying hours in before shooting lines. Try flying through a thunderstorm or a snow blizzard three hundred miles out at sea. You can't see out of the cabin window, and you could be flying the wrong way for all you know, and finish up in New York.'
'What about the compass?' someone yelled.
'Jesus! Just flying over the sea and looking for submarines is my idea of a war,' laughed Danzey.
'That's a lot easier than flying over enemy territory for six hours and getting flak thrown up at you all
the time, plus the fighters with their eight machine guns and four cannons. It's what survival is all
about. I take my hat off to every member of Bomber Command.'
'Do you think that's all we did was stooge over the sea?' Tennant asked heatedly. 'What about attacks on enemy shipping, battleships like the Bismarck and Tirpitz, and ports like Saint-Nazaire and Brest? You flew through flak as thick as snow and right into the mouths of those guns. Bloody frightening!'
'You Air Force pansies don't know what it's all about,' a paratrooper glider pilot stated bluntly. ‘Market Garden was no tea-party. At Arnhem we had to fly in gliders loaded to the gunwales with jeeps, light artillery and soldiers. And where did we land? Not on prepared runways like you Brylcream boys, but on a field or roadway, hoping like hell that you weren't crushed to death by the cargo on landing. It was a tough war. We didn't have engines. We didn't need them, we just glided in and hoped that luck was with us.'
No-one answered him. The banter that emanated from the group was always in good fun, and no-one meant what he said, as it was done to pass the time and relieve the monotony. Everyone respected the other and knew what tough wartime assignments they had performed. Sandy Smith had fought over the desert, had eaten the sand, slept in it, and had been fortunate enough not to be buried in it; the bomber boys had flown to the Ruhr Valley and faced the thirty thousand ack-ack guns and numerous other deadly obstacles; Coastal Command crews had faced a watery death and the menacing guns of the big German battleships; while the Airborne Division - the paratroopers and glider pilots had tons of guts and had shown their metal in so many hazardous operations in different theatres of war.
'We're all bloody good blokes anyway,' declared Welling’s, 'so who's arguing? Let's drink to the Royal
Navy. Those bloody sailors get all the luck.'
'I don't know about luck,' commented Bolland, 'for I don't seem to be having too much lately. That's all I dream about these days are cakes. Masses and masses of them with loads of cream and plenty of chocolate icing on top. It's no good dreaming about them for they never materialise, and I wake up as hungry as ever and dying for a piss. I never dream about sex now and I'm worried about myself.'
'I don't know about sex,' asserted Slater, 'but I dream about cakes, too. Women don't seem to worry me anymore. They say that the hunger drive is stronger than anything else. When you're well fed you want a woman, but lack of food drives the urge away. That's all I want to do, piss. I suppose the food shortage causes the liquid to run right through you. You must have something to absorb the water. Something like blotting paper.'
'To hell with the cakes,' chortled Mackie. All I have to do is think of the Aussie sun, Bondi, and the
sheilas and I'm alight. Boy, the sex flame will never go out in this baby! I'm a hundred per cent red
blooded male who can rise to any and every occasion.'
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'You're a goddam liar, you son of a bitch!' accused Bolland. 'Only last week you were telling me that
you felt that you were on the wane and that life was passing you by. You had doubts about your
masculinity.'
'Who, me? I'd never confide in you, mate, for you'd be down the shithouse and then it would be all
over the camp. No, I'm as good as I ever was. You speak for yourself, Bolland. The old Bondi star can
still play any tune that's called - and that's no bullshit!'
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CHAPTER XVI
Dave stood as close as possible to the big, German guard and inhaled deeply the cigarette smoke
wafting towards him. The guard puffed contentedly savouring to the full the enjoyment received. Dave moved a fraction closer, and the guard, sensing his presence for the first time, whirled around. The two faced each other momentarily, and then Dave walked off.
'Jesus, you were so close I thought you were going to eat him!' exclaimed Welling’s. 'Your mouth was opening and closing like an elephant's arsehole. He must have had a hell of a shock to turn and see you gaping like a fish out of water.'
'Christ, Welling’s! You use some colourful language. Elephant's arsehole, indeed. I'd bet you've never
seen an elephant, leave alone his hindquarters. Hell, I'm dying for a smoke! I don't know what's worse to be without a fag or a meal.'.
'I'd settle for both, Dave, for you need one to complement the other. A good meal of roast beef with all the trimmings, followed by a couple of cigarettes - - - - how does that grab you?'
'You give me the shits, Welling’s. You're always talking about the impossible. The Red Cross parcels
are kaput, and we haven't had a cigarette for nearly three weeks. The last I had was a drag on one
Mackie scrounged somewhere. There were five of us and the Aussie gave us a puff each. A good
bloke, Mackie!'
'It might be December, but, according to the BBC news, the Allies are still strafing and bombing
anything that moves. I wish they'd ease up so that a few parcels could get through and then we'd eat
again,' philosophised Welling’s. 'A sixth of a loaf a day, a swede, watery soup without meat at noon,
and two spuds a day are not enough to keep a gnat alive. I'm hungry all the time,' and then laughingly added, 'one could easily become a cannibal and that's why I thought you were going to swallow the guard.'
'I don't know about cannibalism, but I'm dying for a piss. That's all I seem to do is urinate. Last night I
woke up and was almost pissing myself. I just got out of bed in time. Everything seems to go straight
through me. It's bloody embarrassing. If I hear the slightest sound of running water I'm off like a
scalded cat to relieve myself.'
'Me, too!' concurred Welling’s. 'There's no food in the stomach to soak up the water and I suppose your inside is like a waterfall and the deluge has to come out. I'm sure I'll piss the bed one night. It's the cold, too, that puts pressure on the old bladder. It's one hell of a life.'
'If the parcels don't come soon,' stated Dave, 'we'll be in a fine pickle for Christmas. Nothing to eat and no cigs. That's all we do is piss. I never seem to want a shit these days. Perhaps if I had some of those chocolate cakes I'm always dreaming of then I might get the urge.'
'You might be changing your sex, too,' laughed Welling’s. 'I'd better tell Mackie - he'd think it a great
joke.'
Then, after a few seconds of silence, added, 'Those bloody cakes haunt me, too. It could be lack of
sugar or something, but between pissing and cakes I don't know whether I'm an uncle or an auntie.'
'The difference between them' explained Dave humorously, 'is that your uncle has balls, so you'd better check when you go to bed tonight.'
'I don't need to check,' retorted Welling’s, 'I can feel them and they're as cold as ice-cubes. They're
getting it rough - bleeding cold all the time. Let's go back to the hut!'
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The mail was being distributed. There had been a comparative dearth of late, for the Allied advance in the West and the Russian push from the East had hard hit the German communication system,
resulting in a shortage of everything for the prisoners. However, there were some letters, Dave
receiving two: one from Joan and the other from his mother. He lay on his pit and read and re-read the letters. It was good to receive mail from home, although over a month old, and know that somewhere things were normal in a world gone mad. Joan stated that she still loved him and was eagerly awaiting his return. They would be together again in the summer, so it wasn't far off and the time would soon pass. She had sent several cigarette parcels and hoped they had arrived. She visited his mother often and they would have tea together. He was as pleased as hell that she still wanted him and was looking forward to his return, but then he realised that the letter had been written five weeks previously and in that time she could have changed her mind or married some dashing, uniformed figure. The comment, 'the time would soon pass ' made him wince inwardly. Each week now seemed like a year and it was a question of survival and hanging in there with both hands and feet. Still, he was gloriously happy at receiving the communication, despite the fact that the cigarette parcels hadn't turned up and never would. By now they were either part of the burnt wreckage of some train or goods yard, or had been filched by a German railway worker who had enjoyed then to the full.
'You bastard!' Dave muttered, and then thoughtfully added, 'bloody good luck to you, I'd have done
the same myself.'
The letter from his mother was full of courage, understanding, and her indomitable will was evident in every line. Her husband, Walter, Dave's father, was with Mountbatten somewhere in South-East Asia, while her elder son, Ken, Dave’s brother, was fighting the Japs in the jungles of Burma. She wouldn't give in, despite her family being torn asunder and would breathe and live for the day when peace came and they were all reunited. She was a wonderful mother and a lioness in adversity.
Welling’s joined him and said that his girlfriend was still faithful et cetera. Then the strains of 'Missed
the Saturday Dance' floated to their ears, and Welling’s concluded, 'It seems like Slater's struck gold,
too.'
The war news was bad. On 16th December the Germans had launched a major counteroffensive in the Ardennes with the hope of capturing Liege and Antwerp and so disrupting the Allies' supply system.
The success achieved was alarming, capturing Bastogne and other places which seemed to have been in Allied hands for months and taking thousands of American prisoners. The whole Allied lines of defence seemed to be crumbling, and on 19th December, Eisenhower, Supreme Allied Commander, placed Montgomery in command of all American forces on the northern flank of the fifty mile deep salient.
'We'll have a bloody awful Christmas!' grumbled Blackston. 'There'll be no food, no heat, and the
British will be doing another Dunkirk, but this time the Yanks will be with them.'
'If that bloody, heavy fog would lift we'd soon be giving them hell again,' declared Sandy Smith
authoritatively. 'It would be like the Western Desert all over again. Our planes would bomb and strafe their columns until they turned tail and fled for the Fatherland. Then they'd be into them again, and there'd be nothing left. The roads leading to Germany would be clogged with wreckage and the shattered dreams of Hitler's generals.'
'If, if, if! It's always bloody 'if'!' blared Slater. 'The fog has been over the front ever since the attack
began, and that's all we hear on the news is, 'Today, heavy fog seriously limited the number of Allied
air sorties! Blah! Blah!
They'd better pull their finger out or we'll be here for Christmas, 1954.'
'What's wrong with the bloody Air Force, anyway?' demanded Bolland. 'We used to do sweeps over
France and the Low Countries looking for anything that moved or stood still. We'd blast away at
trains, especially the engines, truck convoys, troop movements, water towers and even bridges. We'd fly under high tension wires, trees, anything as long as we could get right down so we wouldn't miss,
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and sometimes the mists would come up and we'd grope our way home. The Brylcream boys had
better start bouncing the ball around, fog or no fog.'
'She'll be right now, mate!' consoled Mackie. 'They've put Montgomery in-charge and He'll straighten things up, He has a touch of flamboyancy about him. Must be flash if you're going to be a success. Look at the way he wears that Tank Corps beret -- it denotes confidence and style. He's like
MacArthur, they've both got class.'
'The war can look after itself,' stated Welling’s, 'food is more important. I heard that Joe Cresswell has gone to Luneberg with a truck to get some Red Cross parcels. The German transport system's euchred, but there's plenty of parcels there.'
'Shithouse!' exploded Danzey. 'There's so many whispers going around this bloody place that you don't know what to believe.'
'I heard it, too,' solemnly stated Tennant. 'I didn't believe it, so I went up to kriegie admin. hut and said I wanted to speak to Cresswell on an urgent matter. I was told that the British Man-of-Confidence was unavailable. Now that's unusual, for old Joe will see anyone, so I drew my own conclusions: he'd gone to Luneburg to stock up. We'll be eating on Christmas Day.
'Jesus! If he's taken that red truck he won't be able to bring back more than six hundred, and that'll be roughly one parcel to sixteen men. We'll get fat on that!' declared Danzey.
'It will be better than bugger all, anyway,' pointed out Mackie.
'Half a loaf is better than none. Still, he'll have to hurry, it is the twenty-third today. If he comes back
on Boxing Day, we've had it, for we'll have to share the parcels with the Russians. Don't forget,
according to Charlie Haynes, they're dropping in on 26th to wish us a Happy New Year.'
'Haven't you heard the latest?' chortled Sandy Smith. 'This is the best and should get the 'Oscar' award for 1944.'
'Trust you to hear it, Sandy,' called Welling’s. 'You're always in the shithouse and I'm beginning to
have my doubts about you.'
'Then, here it is chaps!' proclaimed Sandy. 'Charlie Haynes has just announced the big one. He's
revised his forecast of the Russians being here on 26th December, because he's made a slight
calculation error, due to circumstances beyond his control.'
'Down the shithouse with him!' interjected someone. 'Then it would be a miscalculation on our part.'
'But you haven't heard it all,’ continued Sandy, 'he's revised the date to 3rd March and says that’s final and binding.'
'So be it!' solemnly chanted Tennant. 'We'll wait and see.'
Christmas 1944 didn't turn out too badly after all. The war news on the Ardennes front had improved and there seemed some form of stability: the forward advance of the German armies had been contained, and the Allies were counterattacking.
Further, the seemingly, everlasting, thick fog had lifted, allowing the Royal Air Force to strike hard at
the enemy and fly sortie after sortie. But the really good news was there was food to eat and fags to
smoke. The British Man-of-Confidence, Joe Cresswell, had returned from Luneburg with sufficient
parcels for an issue of one to every fourteen prisoners, and five cigarettes per man. It was impossible
to share two tins of meat, a tin of 'Klim' or condensed milk, a packet of biscuits, a bar of chocolate, two ounces of sugar, a small tin of oats, and a tin of margarine between fourteen, so the group Dave was in decided to glop the lot. That is put the lot in a big pot or bucket, add water, heat and stir so that you finish with a form of stew or thick, gluey mess. Still, it was wonderful and filled you up, especially
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when the bread ration was used to clean up the plate. Then it was a smoke and contentment as the blue haze floated around the hut, and the scintillating conversation of the inmates got under way.
'Merry Christmas, everybody!' called out Mackie. 'I've eaten a lot of Christmas dinners, but I reckon
that was as good as any. I suppose it was so unexpected and I've been hungry for months. It's good to have a smoke. I've nearly forgotten what it's like.
Bloody marvellous! In 1938 I had a great Christmas. The sun was a cow, as hot as hell, and I was a
lifesaver on Bondi.'
'What were you?' queried Bolland. 'Did I hear aright - a lifesaver? Jesus, they must take anybody in
Aus. I suppose they were hard up at the time.'
'Anyway,' continued Mackie ignoring the interruption, 'I used to love the beach, the sun, the waves,
and especially the sheilas. They'd always be around me. I couldn't get away from them. I believe they
used to go out in the deep water and just throw up their hands in the hope that I'd save them and, God, were they disappointed when someone else did the rescuing. Well, along comes this beautiful blonde and into the water she goes and throws up her arms. I'm in like flash, she's in my arms, and I carry her to the beach tent where I resuscitate with the 'kiss of life'.'
'You what?' demanded Sandy Smith. 'That's a new word for it. I haven't heard that one before. I'll have to remember that for the future.'
'It wasn't like that at all,' declared Mackie, 'it's your dirty minds. It was just wonderful, all peaches and cream.'
'What happened in the end?' asked Sandy.
'I suppose she's still on the beach throwing up her arms, and every lifesaver within cooee is just
waiting to save her.'
And with that the hut resounded with happy, contented laughter.
It was a Merry Christmas.
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CHAPTER XVII
The door of the hut opened with a bang, accompanied by the tramp of heavy boots on the cobbled
stones.
'Oh, for Christ sake!' yelled someone angrily. 'Can't you bastards do anything without making a din?'
'Piss off!' shouted another. 'It's too early yet for roll call! It's still dark as hell.'
Then the lights went on revealing the situation. The hut was filling with soldiers all with fixed
bayonets. Something was afoot and these intruders meant business. They weren't the usual camp
guards, but men brought in especially for the occasion. The kriegies tumbled out of bed saying little
for the moment wasn't opportune for the usual banter and exchange of pleasantries.
Dave dressed hurriedly, donned his greatcoat, and then shuffled out into the morning dark.
'Shit! It's cold,' he muttered to himself. 'Bloody freezing.' Then he turned to Welling’s, and asked,
'What the hell's up? I hope the roll call doesn't take long. I want to get back to the pit.'
'It's the Gestapo!' answered Welling’s. 'Didn't you see the two in our hut with the soldiers? You can't
mistake those bastards. I've seen too many of them in Fresnes, and they all dress and look alike.'
As they made their way down the thoroughfare between the huts and towards the parade ground, they realised that the camp was bristling with soldiers and members of the Gestapo.
The prisoners took up their positions in ranks three deep; members of each hut forming a squad to
facilitate counting.
However, there seemed no hurry on the part of the guards to carry out the daily ritual. Over an hour
passed and the dark had given way to the lengthening light, and still there was no count.
'Bugger this!' exclaimed Bolland. 'I'm not standing around here like a bloody wallflower. I'm off, and
they can come to the hut and count me if it's so important.
'I'm with you, Bolland,' agreed Sandy Smith. 'Let's go!'
The two walked off, but were promptly returned to their positions at the end of a bayonet.
'Take it easy! Take it bloody easy! gritted Sandy as he swayed to avoid the lunges of his captor. 'Jesus, this fellow's really trying. The bastard's in earnest - he's after my bum.' However, the soldier desisted before hitting the target and moved away.
'Shit! He gave me a scare,' stated Sandy breathlessly. 'I thought I was going to get six inches of steel
right up the arse.'
'He most probably fancied you, Sandy,' laughed Bolland, 'and he was measuring you up. You notice he didn't bother with me, but with you. I suppose he realised that I'm not one of those. All these bloody Germans are homosexuals, so you'd better be careful.'
Finally, the roll count began, but when completed the prisoners weren't dismissed.
'Bloody hell!' grumbled Danzey. 'We've been here a couple of hours and my feet and hands are
freezing. That easterly wind cuts you like a knife. It's alright for you bastards with greatcoats, you
couldn't give a shit for the poor people.'
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'Bugger you, Jack, I'm alright,' laughed Welling’s, 'I'm in the boat so you can shove off now. However,
I'm like an iceberg myself. But don't panic, if we're not dismissed in half an hour you can borrow my
coat for five minutes or so.'
'What about me borrowing yours, Dave Griffin?' asked Slater. 'You look pretty, bloody cozy.'
'My whole body's blue,' replied Dave, 'and this bloody wind is numbing my hands and feet.'
'Ah, well! Welling’s is a generous bastard and is giving his to Danzey for five minutes, so I guess I can
give mine for half that time and still be a good fellow.' Then added seriously, 'Hang on for another ten minutes and then you can have it. Jesus, Slater, you demand a lot from your mates.'
The day dragged on slowly and still the prisoners were made to stand in rows and no dismissal order
was given. Twice during the day each group was conducted to the nearby toilet to relieve themselves and then smartly returned to their positions.
'If I'd had something to drink for breakfast, I'd have pissed myself by now,' claimed Slater. 'The bloodycold goes right through you and plays hell with the bladder. I'll certainly remember today. It's been a bastard.'
'You wait till you get back to the hut, there will be a roast dinner a la Gestapo just waiting to be eaten.' stated Dave.
'That's why they're keeping us out here so that we have big appetites and do justice to the meal. These Gestapo blokes are full of surprises.'
At about three o'clock the camp commandant arrived, accompanied by the British Man-of-Confidence. The prisoners were called to attention, and then the commandant delivered his sermon. Afterwards, Joe Cresswell read the English transcript stating that the British in the North African campaign had taken prisoner the same number of troops as existed in the prison camp. These prisoners hadn't been provided with sleeping accommodation for several weeks, being forced to sleep in the sand. Consequently, the German High Command was taking reprisals and the palliasses had been confiscated.
The news stunned the kriegies. The palliasse was the only luxury left, and the Germans were expecting a violent reaction for they had reinforced the guard by bringing to the parade ground all the soldiers who had daylong been involved in the confiscation of the palliasses. These ringed the ground with bayonets fixed. There was no sound of protest for about ten seconds, and then someone started to clap and the applause grew in volume, reaching a crescendo. The noise was deafening and so unexpected. Then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
'Three cheers for the Germans!' someone yelled. 'Hip-hip -hooray Hip-hip - hooray! Hip-hip hooray!'
Then the roll call was over. The guards must have thought that the inmates had either gone around the bend or had a perverted sense of humour.
The hut was in a mess and it seemed as if the Gestapo had not only the palliasses, but had been
searching for something. The belongings of everyone were strewn all over the place and in some cases personal possessions had disappeared. The scene looked bare and uninviting without the bedding.
'I'm off to see if I can get some string,' Slater told Dave. 'You can't sleep on bare boards, they'll slide
all over the place and need holding in place. Tonight you'll think you're on a slippery dip.'
'Get some for me, too?' asked Dave hopefully, although he knew Slater didn't have a cat-in-hell's
chance of success, for where would there be any string, especially when thousands of prisoners all had the same idea? The six bed boards had originally been about eight inches wide, but these had gradually been pared away when 'brewing-up' operations had demanded fuel. You had to heat the water for tea making, and the only source of heat was the boards, which progressively grew thinner and thinner. Dave tidied up, and then it was soup up, the watery swede which should have been eaten at midday,
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and the sixth of a loaf of bread. It was like nectar, being the first meal of the day, but the hunger pangs were still very much in evidence. That night Dave, like all the prisoners, went to bed fully clothed, excepting his boots. He also wore his greatcoat and wrapped the blankets around him. It was as uncomfortable as hell, especially with the bed boards constantly sliding and needing rearrangement every so often. You had to lie still or movement would disrupt things. It hurt too much to lie on the side as the hips, no longer rounded, had to bear the weight of the body with nothing to cushion it except the hard board. I’ll finish up like a bloody snake if I have to put up with this for long,' proclaimed Mackie. 'My arse is almost touching the ground, while a few boards are under my shoulders and the rest under my legs, with nothing in between except fresh air.'
'Don't worry, Mackie, old son!' consoled Bolland. 'Next summer you'll be back in Australia parading
your bronzed, snakelike body to all the sheilas, and this will be just a memory. You won't dream
anymore about bloody cakes as it will be a thing of the past.'
'Bullshit' retorted Mackie. 'I've told you, Bolland, I don't dream about gateaux.'
'Gateaux, for Christ sake! Who's she?' laughingly questioned Bolland. 'Some Australian sex symbol
that you've slept with. Why haven't you told us about her before? I bet she's full of cream, very sweet, and has chocolate on top. Eh, Mackie?'
'I knew a girl like that in Cairo', chimed in Sandy Smith. 'She was an Arab and brown all over. Was
she wonderful? I'd give a year's pay to have her lying here beside me. The bed boards wouldn't count then as she'd be so soft it would be like lying on a feather bed. She'd keep me warm and would be better than all the bloody cakes.'
'Talking about warmth and enjoyment,' joined in Mackie, 'I found my pleasure either on the beach or
at the Sydney Cricket Ground. I used to watch Bradman belt hell out of bowlers like Larwood, Voce,
Bowes and Co. and at the same time drink beer in the hot sun. Those were the days! Then after the
day's play I'd have a swim in the sea. Hell, it's a far cry from this dump!'
'You bloody exaggerate, Mackie, when you say Bradman mastered Larwood and Voce, 'stated
Tennant. 'You Aussies squealed like hell during the 'Bodyline' series and didn't know how to deal with the thunderbolts. We killed you in 1932-33.'
'I like that!' responded Mackie. 'You bastards only thought of that way of bowling to keep Bradman
quiet. He was too good for everybody.'
'He was good,' admitted Tennant, 'but I think the pace men had his measure.'
Bull!' exploded Mackie. 'I'll never wear that.'
'What the hell are you talking about?' queried Bolland. 'Who the hell are Bradman, Garwood, Voce et cetera? Ice hockey or baseball players or something?'
'Something like that,' came Tennant's terse reply.
Thus the conversation petered out, and it was a cold, sleepless and uncomfortable night for the whole camp. The next morning word spread around that two handcarts, ladened with the loot that the Gestapo had filched from the kriegies, had been parked overnight in one of the buildings and was now being pushed towards the main gates of the camp. Within minutes every prisoner had lined the proposed route and were hurling advice and abuse at the four guards that manned each cart. Two were pulling, while there was one on either side. The Gestapo had departed taking with them the soldiers with the bayonets and leaving the spoils of war to be conveyed to the outer lager. The articles weren't worth anything really, but to the prisoners it was a matter of honour. The things on the handcarts belonged to them and they weren't going to give up without a fight. As the cavalcade moved ponderously forward, the multitude closed in slowly, until progress had almost come to a halt. Then some brave kriegie
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grabbed something off the cart and away he went for his life, vainly followed by the guard on that side of the cart, thus exposing its flank. It was enough, the crowd closed and with a heave, over went the cart scattering the trophies in all directions. It was a free for all and anything and everything was
grabbed in a matter of seconds. It didn't matter what, as long as the Germans didn't have it. The guards on the second cart drew their lugers and moved in support of their comrades, only to be lost in the milling throng. Over went the second cart and the articles disappeared with the fleet-footed fugitives. The guards were powerless to shoot, and the prisoners' honour had been satisfied. The regained spoils would never be returned to their rightful owners, for in a camp of thousands it would never be known to whom they belonged, Admittedly, the prisoners had won the battle of the carts, but lost the war of the palliasses. This had been the knockout blow, for they were still suffering from sleepless nights, severe discomfort and cold.
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CHAPTER XVIII
Dave viewed his handiwork and was well pleased. He had formed sacks from his two blankets by
darning together, lengthwise, the two ends and then stitching the bottom. He then placed the one inside the other, ensuring that open ends coincided. The finished product would, he hoped, keep him a little warmer at nights, for the cold was intolerable without the palliasse, and the continuous pilgrimages to relieve himself kept him out of bed for half the night. He placed the blankets on the equidistantly placed boards and noticed the sag produced by the gaps. Already the sack, so formed, was looking as if it were on a rippling wave. He then took off his boots, put on and buttoned his greatcoat, and tried to fit himself within the sack. It was impossible for the sack was not wide enough, and started to split at the seams.
'You'll never get in there!' stated Slater. 'It's like trying to squeeze an elephant through the eye of a
needle -- an impossibility.'
'I'm going to be bloody warm,' responded Dave. 'I’ve had sleepless nights where you shiver and piss
all the time. It's making me a bloody wreck.'
'Take your coat off!' commanded Welling’s. 'You'll probably fit in then. Or better still,' he added
laughingly, 'strip off and then you'll have room to manoeuvre.'
'Freeze to death, you mean. Welling’s, you're a real bastard, and don't give a shit for your friends. Here am I allowing you to witness a revolutionary step in bed design and that's all you do is scoff. I suppose you'll be making it next and claiming it's your idea. When you get out of here and patent it, you could make a fortune. It will halve the number of blankets in use as you'll have the same number under and above you. You'll be a millionaire riding around in a Rolls Royce.'
'What a lot of bullshit you spray around, Griffin. You're a real crapper of the first order. It wouldn't be much good if you had to share it with a tart, there'd be no room to perform.'
'Like hell! You'd be like two peas in a pod, and wouldn't you be cosy? You could advertise it as a
'Lovers' Dream' or 'Snug as a Bug in a Sack' or 'Two Can Live as Cheaply as One in a Welling’s'
Comfy Bed'. It has tremendous possibilities.'
Dave then divested himself of the greatcoat and slid into the sack. 'It's bloody good,' then added, 'a bit tight though. The bloody Russians should make their blankets a bit wider. Now place the greatcoat over me, Slater!'
Slater did just that - - - -throwing it over Dave's head.
'You bloody bastard! called out Dave's muffled voice. 'The sack's so narrow that I can't get my arms
out.'
Slater removed the coat, replacing it properly around Dave's body. 'I hope I don't have a nightmare
when in here.' Dave stated. 'I suffer from claustrophobia. Still, take the warmth and to hell with the
confinement.'
'How bloody warm do you think you'll be?' demanded Slater. 'You've still only got two blankets. It's
the palliasse that makes the difference.'
'Anyway, I'm trying!' retorted Dave. 'I bet both you industrial pimps pinch my revolutionary idea and
claim it as a product of your fertile imaginations.'
Because of the lack of fuel for heating, showers now occurred once every six weeks and were a
hurried affair. The inmates of the hut were conducted, under guard, to the outer lager where they
stripped, raced under the shower, and endeavoured to make the most of every drop of water. The
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showers were operated by Russian prisoners, who stuck strictly to their orders of everything being
short and sweet, and it was in and out. The skin craved to be soaped, properly lathered and caressed by hot water, and the few minutes’ duration every six weeks did little to alleviate the problem.
Admittedly, the body felt a hundred per cent better afterwards, but within a week the flesh would feel like it needed revitalising and a good soaking, and after three weeks one felt as if the body was
crawling and the scalp itching and alive. There were no bugs around as it was too cold, but only a
long, hot bath or shower could rectify the situation. The talk at night was centred on feeling lousy and the overriding desire for a long, hot soak, but this was impossible. The position was aggravated by sleeping and living in the same clothes, as it was too cold to undress at night, especially without the palliasse.
Dave felt lousy and his flesh as though it were creeping and crawling under his clothes, but what was
the remedy? Very occasionally some hardy would dash into the small hut, soap and douche himself
under the cold water tap, and then beat a hasty retreat. Dave had contemplated this course of action, but the coldness of the whole operation deterred him. However, one morning he decided that he could stand it no longer, and would perform the ritual when the sun was at its zenith and the day a few degrees warmer.
At about 1 p.m. he stripped and viewed his emaciated body for the first time in over a month or so.
Then he put on his greatcoat, slipped on his boots without lacing them, and then ran helter-skelter for the hut. He left the coat and boots outside so they wouldn't get wet. Then sat under the tap, his bum in the wet, sloppy mud, and turned on the tap. The freezing water cascaded over his head and body, forcing him to abandon the position. He rubbed soap in his hair, into his skin, under the armpits, into the crevices and then it was again under the tap. The water swished through the hair numbing the pate, and he gyrated this way and that so that the water could cleanse the vital parts. He was freezing and his flesh was mottled with red and blue patches, but he had to rid himself of the crawling feeling. Again he soaped himself all over and then it was under the tap, the breath coming in gasps as he completed the ablution. After drying himself as best he could, he flew into the greatcoat, buttoning it right up. His feet were still muddy, so he washed one at a time, slipping them, without drying, into the boots. Then he bee-lined for the hut as if a scalded cat and into bed to shiver and shudder.
Half an hour later, Bolland came over for a yarn.
'Jesus! What's wrong with you, Griffin?' demanded the Canadian. 'Sick or something? Your hair's all
wet and your face's like a beetroot.'
'I've had a shower in the little hut', was Dave's quiet reply. 'I felt my flesh had turned into Gorgonzola cheese, so I thought I'd give my backside a good scrub. '
'Good God! You must be crazy. I bet you'll never be able to have sex again, for your balls will remain
ice-cubes forever. You know you must have hot testicles if you want to be bed worthy,' he wisely
proclaimed before walking away.
Mackie, Bolland and Dave were on a pilgrimage to the shrine of the great man, McLeod's hut, so that
they could sit once again at the feet of the master and listen to his teachings and have a good laugh.
They had lost touch with McLeod for several months, so it would be good to renew acquaintance.
However, the hut, which was usually crowded with disciples, was strangely empty and McLeod sat in
his pit, a forlorn figure.
'How goes it then, Mac?' enquired Dave. 'What news have you to make our miserable lives happy? A
modicum of sex with a soupcon of brothel flavouring would be much appreciated.'
The old soldier just sat there saying nothing and looked surly at the intruders.
'Come on, McLeod!' encouraged Mackie. 'Give us a hot episode from your sex life and then we might
feel warmer and get some of the chill out of the bones.'
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'Sex! Sex! That's all you airmen think about,' was the unexpected reply. 'Who wants to talk about
sordid and unnecessary things? It's food we want to keep us warm and alive, not something that's
short-lasting and not worth a crumpet.'
'Not worth a crumpet?' laughed Bolland. 'Jesus, you're a fine one to talk. That's all you've been
interested in for the past fifty years is 'crumpet', and now you don't want it. Shit! What's happened to you? Gone religious or something?'
'He's over the bloody hill,' volunteered Mackie. 'Too much sex gets you in the end. Doesn't it, Mac?'
'I'm bloody hungry,' explained McLeod, 'and I'm dying for a bloody good feed. I dream about cakes
and more cakes, and lick the chocolate icing off the top. All I want is a good feed and to hell with
women’ You’re in a bad way, Mac!' commiserated Dave. 'You ought to see the doctor. He might
prescribe a large cake with a soft centre for what ails you. It would be a sort of shock therapy. I've
heard of blokes like you who get the call and go all queer.' Both Mackie and Bolland burst out
laughing at this innuendo, but were silenced by McLeod's direct question.
'Don't tell me that you young bastards don't want a square meal? I bet you dream about cakes all the time, and they haven't got soft centres either,' he added meaningly. 'The trouble with you young 'uns is that you're not prepared to face the truth, and that is we've all lost the sex urge. It's survival now, and the hunger pangs have taken over.'
McLeod just sat as if tired of the world and all it had to offer. He had tasted its fruits and now its
delights palled him. He must have been nearly sixty and looked eighty. He was too old for the rigours
of prisoner of war life, and seemingly had succumbed.
The airmen took their leave for McLeod was no longer entertaining and amusing, but just an old man
who wanted food, rest and quiet.
'If McLeod's dreaming about gateaux,' said Bolland loftily, 'then every bastard must have lost the sex
urge. The camp's buggered.'
'Speak for yourself!' exclaimed Mackie. 'This is one kriegie that has his sights fixed on the opposite
sex and to hell with the cakes. And that's no bullshit!'
The February cold was biting and although the kriegies were in their pits and between blankets, its
grabbing fingers seemed to reach their very marrows.
'Thank God the Allies are again on the move,' announced Danzey, 'I thought they'd never make any
progress after the Ardennes setback.'
'The Ardennes offensive, according to yesterday's news, cost the Germans a quarter of a million men
and sixteen hundred aeroplanes,' stated Sandy Smith authoritatively. 'So it was a blessing in disguise.
They'll be through them like a dose of salts now.'
'They've reached the Rhine at last, so they'll only have to cross and then they'll wrap up the war,'
prophesied Tennant.
'What's this 'they' business?' demanded Bolland. 'It wasn't 'they' at all, but the Canadian First Army.
They're the boys who have reached the Rhine, and no-one else. It takes a Canuck to show them. Where were the Australians, Mackie? Have they got an army?'
'Too right, mates They're doing all the fighting in South-East Asia against the Japs, and were the shock troops in Montgomery's North African campaign. Without them we'd lost Asia and would still be battling against the Afrika Corps.'
'Christ, you're a line shooter!' interjected Dave. 'I've got a brother fighting in the jungles of Burma, and he's no Aussie.'
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'Well, I suppose there has to be a few troops from the British Isles around,' said Mackie
condescendingly, 'for we Australians can't fight everybody, although we'll give it a go.'
'What would they do without us, Mackie?' boasted Bolland. 'We win the air war for them, the
Canadians are the first to reach the Rhine, and your mob are doing all the fighting in South-East Asia.
The Limeys just sit on their arses and wait for us to win the bloody war for them. Just like them.'
'What bullshit!' interjected Welling’s. 'Seventy per cent of the kriegies in this camp come from the
British Isles. We do our share. So get stuffed both of you!'
'It's 16th February now, so I'll give it another month,' declared Blackston optimistically. 'They'll be
over the Rhine in a few days and then watch them go. Charlie Haynes's prediction about 3rd March
could be right, but he's mistaken the Russians for the Allies.'
'Who the hell cares, as long as someone arrives to free us?' questioned Slater. 'I wouldn't care if it were Santa Claus as long as he gets us out of this bloody place.'
'I feel lousy,' grumbled Sandy Smith. 'I hope Father Christmas remembers to bring some fuel with him so that I can have a shower. I'd give a fortune for a hot bath.'
'You're too lousy, Sandy,' punned Slater, 'to give anybody anything.'
'I reckon that after a good meal the most important things in life are warmth, a toothbrush, shower and clean sheets. Jesus, you miss most the things that you accept as commonplace in civvy life,'
philosophised Blackston. 'When I get out of here, I'll know true values. That's one thing I've learned as a kriegie.'
'Me too,' chorused Bolland. 'Still, I wish the Allied Air Forces wouldn't shoot up the trains, for I want
a Red Cross parcel badly.'
'Eh, Welling’s!' called Blackston. 'I hear you've been converted. What's old Taylor shooting the shit
about now? They tell me he gets 'gen' from the Bible.'
'I suppose the Bible's as good a place as any,' defended Welling’s. 'Old Taylor's not like Charlie Haynes who only wants to make a name for himself. Haynes is off beat, while Taylor is sincere. I'd prefer to listen to old Taylor than Haynes any day '
'Why listen to any of the bastards?' demanded Bolland. 'They should all be down the shithouse and
then there'd be no-one to raise our hopes. We're up and down like yo-yos, and we get browned off
when nothing happens. They're a menace to society.'
'I'm as cold as hell!' blurted Tennant. 'If those palliasses came back I'd feel like a millionaire. The
boards are getting harder and harder. I thought I'd get used to them.'
'The trouble,' volunteered Danzey, 'is that you're getting thinner and thinner, and the bones can't stand the cold and the wear and tear.'
'Then I'll eat more,' retorted Tennant facetiously, 'and that'll solve all my problems, so to hell with the palliasse.'
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CHAPTER XIX
The cold continued and the prisoners either stayed indoors or bashed the circuit. However, there was little comfort offered by going to bed so the alternative was to get out, especially as the ground was hard, firm and there was no moisture,
Dave, Welling’s and Slater walked nearly every morning, but this time Slater's chilblains were giving
him hell, so he'd decided to give it a miss. Both Dave and Welling’s were disconsolate, for the food
situation was grim. With no Red Cross parcels having arrived at the camp for months, the prisoners
relying solely on German rations. Further, cigarettes had disappeared and both were dying for a
smoke. And the mail situation had come to a full stop. Little was said for both were immersed in their own thoughts.
Dave felt tired, hungry and lacking in strength. The walk was taxing him, but he didn't want to divulge this. He knew Welling’s was buggered, too, but what was the point in complaining - no-one listened or wanted to know, for you were only expressing the obvious. One had to hang in there and hope the war would finish soon. The cold weather had to be endured and the hope was that there'd be a very early warm spring, but this was at least two months away. Then there was no news from either Joan or his mother and this uncertainty troubled him. A letter would have lifted his morale and made everything right again, but it seemed all had gone wrong. Dave knew that Welling’s was also concerned, but neither made mention of their innermost problems. The prisoners poked and made fun of almost everything, but personal problems were taboo.
'If this bloody war doesn't finish soon,' stated Welling’s, breaking the silence unexpectedly, 'I'll be a
bag of bloody bones. A good feed wouldn't do me any harm.' Then he added ruefully, 'If I don't get a
chance of putting on a bit of weight before getting out of here Mary won't even recognise me.' It was the first time he had mentioned the girlfriend's name for weeks, but it revealed where his thoughts were.
'Of course, she'll remember a good looking bloke like you,' jollied Dave. 'She's just waiting for your
return and then you'll be peaches.'
'I hope so,' was Welling's quiet reply, 'I could do with a bit of an uplift.'
'How are your bloody feet?' asked Dave, changing the subject. 'Your chilblains giving you hell?'
'They're not too bad. Thank God the ground's hard and dry I couldn't stand wet boots, wet socks and
cold feet. They kill me.
When we went collecting wood about ten days ago, I was shagged.'
'Me, too,' responded Dave. 'Just picking it up off the ground was tough enough, but when you had to
load yourself like a pack horse it knocked shit out of you.'
'Yes, I kept adding to my load for I didn't want the bastards in the hut to say, 'Pull your bloody finger
out; What the hell you've been doing out there?’ et cetera. We brought between us as big a load as any, and yet they still grumbled. I suppose if we'd taken an elephant, they'd been disappointed if we hadn't stuffed fuel up his arsehole. The kriegie has an insatiable appetite!'
'I suppose it's a mentality that we develop,' explained Dave. 'We're deprived of everything and so
become acquisitive. We can never get enough of anything and we're always hoping to hoard
something for the future.'
'I hope we're out of here before it's our turn again. The very thought of it gives me nightmares. It's too tough, and next time,' he added with a laugh, 'we won't be in such fine shape. Will we?'
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'Speak for yourself,' came Dave's reply, 'I've never felt fitter. The diet suits me.'
They continued on, a silence between them. Although the weather was icy, Dave felt the need for a hot soak in a bath. To lie for an hour or so in warm water would be …, he was stumped for a word, and then remembered the caption on the cigarette pack of a popular brand he used to smoke: 'the perfection of luxury, the product of mastermind'. He liked that, but now his thoughts and cravings were on tobacco. A long, hard drag would do him the world of good, especially after a big feed. A cooked dinner and three or four chocolate cakes would go down well. It would be like nectar from the gods to have a bath, a meal, a smoke and then a comfortable warm bed.
'Shit! It would be bloody marvellous!' muttered Dave.
'What would be?' questioned Welling’s. 'Come on, Dave, let's have it!'
'I was thinking about a bath, a meal, a cigarette and a warm bed,' explained Dave. 'How does that grab you?'
'I'm already salivating,' was Welling's reply. 'It would be like being in heaven without having the
angels worrying you.,
As they reached the northern end of the camp, they witnessed something running like hell towards
them with what seemed like a tent as a covering.
'Christ! It looks like a bloody cow with an overcoat on!' explained Welling’s, and then after a few
moments, 'It's a galloping four poster.'
'Like hell it is. It's a kriegie and he's got a palliasse', cried Dave excitedly. 'Where did he get that?'
'Look! Look! commanded Welling’s. 'There are six of the bastards. They've all got palliasses and
they're running as if their bums are on fire. Come on, Dave, we've got to be in this. Cosy, warm nights are my idea of bliss.'
They ran towards the source of comfort, passing scores of 'fugitives', weighted down with newly acquired bedding. Aladdin's cave was a large hut in which about 30 kriegies were all scrambling for a
palliasse. Here indeed was a treasure house for it represented the epitome of comfort. Dave and
Welling’s grabbed theirs, balanced them partly on back and head, and then, bent low, made their
retreat, brushing as they went the multitude on its way in. It was like the beginning of the January
sales in the city stores with everyone trying to get in for the bargain hunt.
The two of them ran towards their hut, panting and breathing hard as they went, their new possessions bobbing up and down on their backs like moving staircases. They kept going, although giddy and weak from the exertion, for no-one was going to take the prized mattresses from them. Eventually they stopped for a breather and viewed the scene. There were prisoners going in all directions, just like ants scattering when danger threatens. The whole compound seemed alive with running kriegies and bobbing palliasses.
'What a bloody sight! chuckled Dave. 'I wish I had a camera. This would be some photo.'
'Bugger the photo!' reminded Welling’s, 'Let's get going or we'll lose the bedding. You can't sleep on a memory.'
So the burdens were re-adjusted and away they went, their legs like lead weights and the breath
coming in gasps, but the mission was to deliver the palliasses safe and sound to the awaiting bed
boards. On arrival, the hut was empty, as everyone was out looking for bedding. Dave laid his mattress on the boards and then curled up on it. He was exhausted, the exertion had knocked hell out of him. He closed his eyes and went to sleep.
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That night was a joyous occasion. Everyone in the hut had a palliasse for the hunting had been good.
Apparently, the hut containing the confiscated bedding had been guarded day and night, but some
enterprising prisoner had lured the guard to his hut and plied him with chocolate and cigarettes, while his mates were out looting. Where the chocolate and smokes came from no-one seemed to know, but that was the yarn circulating.
'God help the poor bloody guard,' commiserated Sandy Smith.
'I bet he'll be sent to the Russian front where his balls will freeze.'
'Bugger him! called out Blackston. 'We've got 'em now and I feel like a millionaire who’s bedded
down in the best hotel in London. I'm warm and comfortable for the first time in months.'
'I don't know about warm,' interrupted Bolland, 'for the cold is still in my bones and I want a piss
badly. Still, it's better to have a mattress, even if it's only a straw one. Sleeping on those boards turns
the body into bloody big ripples.'
'Now that I've got something to sleep on,' stated Danzey enthusiastically, 'I could stay here forever,
especially if they gave me three square meals a day and I didn't have to get up to cook them. I'd just
clap my hands and James, the butler, would appear and fulfil my every desire.'
There were roars of laughter at this for Danzey had committed an unintentional faux pas and Bolland seized on the implication.
'Fulfil your every desire, for Christ sake',' repeated the Canadian. 'What, are you and James having an affair or something? I always thought you were one of those, Danzey, for you're always eyeing me up and down. Eh, Mackie! You'd better be careful now when you strip off to go to bed, for Danzey will be waiting to spear you.'
Again there were roars of laughter, and when they subsided Mackie took up the running.
'This is the first time I've had my trousers, shirt and socks off for a bloody long time, so poor old
Danzey's been missing out. It’s a bloody luxury to be out of them—I feel a new man.
'I've never seen such a funny sight as when the palliasses were pinched today. Kriegies like ants
swarming in all directions,' someone commented.
'We've got them back!' exclaimed Dave triumphantly, 'and the bastards will never collect them up
again for it would be too much like hard work. Besides they'd have to get the Gestapo and troops back to carry out the operation.'
'We've got them now,' added Sandy Smith, 'and let's enjoy the luxury. Good sleeping, fellows!'
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CHAPTER XX
For the last fortnight the war news had been good, for all sectors. The Allied armies had reached the
west bank of the Rhine, the last barrier protecting Hitler's Germany. Luck had also been with them, for the U.S. 9th. armoured division had captured intact at Remagen the only remaining bridge spanning the river, the others having been destroyed by the retreating enemy. Montgomery's British divisions were hovering around Wesel, poised for the kill, and the BBC news had been harping about the massive smoke screen which floated over this section of the river. The hungry prisoners were eagerly awaiting the crossing and the deliverance, but as day followed day and the news kept mentioning the smoke haze and the massing of Allied troops for the assault, the kriegies became browned off and highly critical of the operation.
'That Montgomery wants to pull his finger out,' declared Danzey. 'The bastard's like a tortoise. He
pushes his head out, advances two inches, then withdraws into his shell. I wish he'd get on with it.'
'I was with Monty in the desert,' boasted Sandy Smith, 'and he always made sure that all was right
before making a move. He used to say to me, 'Sandy, my boy, you've got to keep making every post a winner. A general can't afford a mistake or he's retired and forgotten'.'
'Sandy, my boy,' mimicked Slater. 'Who the hell you're kidding, Smith, you line-shooter? Monty
wouldn't have known you existed. If you were so close, he'd be in more of a hurry to get you out of
here, so that you could renew your supposed close acquaintance. Jesus, you shoot the shit!'
'I'm not so sure,' explained Mackie laughingly. 'Smith strikes me as a bloke with lots of class. He and
the general would get on well together. Over cigars and port, Sandy would be the life and soul of the
party, especially with his 'blue' jokes. When you meet him again you'll be able to put in a good word
for old McLeod and ensure his promotion to sergeant.'
'McLeod's gone queer,' informed Dave. 'He's not interested in anything except food. Sex is taboo. He
goes off his head if you mention it.'
'Me, too!' added Tennant. All I want is something to eat. I reckon you could play a tune on my ribcage. It's like a bloody harp.'
'Talk about skeletons,' interrupted Bolland, 'have you seen Jack McDonald?'
'Where did you see him?' enquired Dave eagerly. 'He left us years ago when he and the cookhouse
staff moved out with A Lager in East Prussia, and we went to Poland.'
'Well, he arrived yesterday,' answered Bolland. 'Apparently, he was in a camp near the Rhine and they evacuated. About eighty of them turned up here, and he's in a hut down the road.'
'I'd like to see McDonald again,' stated Dave. He and you, Bolland, were the first two kriegies I met.
Remember the bloody Dutch gaol and when we were nearly lynched on the railway platform? Christ,
we were nearly goners.'
'That bastard with a hammer put the breeze up me,' answered Bolland, 'I thought he'd wrap it around my head as part of the welcoming ceremony. By the way, you'll have a shock when you see
McDonald. He's so bloody thin that I didn't recognise him. Yet he had the cheek to say I looked
buggered. Everybody knows me, for I don't change,' boasted Bolland.
'You've changed!' ripped in Mackie. 'You look like a scarecrow, but we've been with you all the time
and the change has been gradual. I bet McDonald thought you were a bit of a wreck.'
'He might have done, too,' agreed Bolland, 'but, Jesus, I haven't been through what he's had to put up with. When A Lager left East Prussia they were taken to the Lithuanian port of Memel and stuffed in
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the hold of a ship like sardines in a tin. They were on that boat 12 days, and were sick as hell as the old tub wallowed this way and that. The piss buckets overflowed and slopped all over the place. It was tough going. Then they were disembarked, herded into cattle trucks where they spent another five days.'
'Poor bastards!' sympathised Blackston. 'Thank God I went to Poland.'
'Finally, they reached a railway siding,' continued Bolland, ignoring the interruption, 'and the reception committee was the SS.
'Shit! I'm glad I wasn't with them,' interrupted Welling’s, the further away I am from those sods the
better.'
'Shut up!' commanded Bolland, 'and let me tell you the rest of it. Well they line up the A Lager mob
and force them to run to the prison camp about three kilometres away. They have these Alsatian dogs on chains to ginger them up and the stragglers were given playful pricks with the bayonets. They ran like buggery for the SS weren't playing games. All this after a bloody Baltic sea voyage and five days in a cattle truck. The poor bastards! Well apparently the camp was shithouse - little food, overcrowded and bugger all there. Then the camp was evacuated and McDonald and about eighty others do a grand cattle truck tour of Germany, looking for a place to live - finishing up here. He looks rooted.'
'And we thought we had it tough!' exclaimed Smith. 'I'll go around and see him tomorrow and cheer
him up.'
'I'll come with you,' volunteered Dave. 'Pity we haven't got something to give him as a welcoming
present.'
'She'll be right, mate,' asserted Mackie. 'Monty will be over that river tomorrow and then we'll all get a feed. It's been one hell of a war, and I'll be glad to get back to Sydney town. This Europe gives me the shits. I'll take the beach, the surf, the pub and the Sydney Cricket Ground from now on, and that's all I'll do is fight and wrestle with sheilas. For me it's going to be, 'our 'Arbour, our Bridge, and our Bradman', and to hell with everything else.'
'Give you a month to recover, Mackie, and you'll be in the Pacific fighting Japs,' said Tennant. 'A
classy pilot like you couldn't bear to be out of it. Think of the 'gongs' you'd get shooting down Japs.
It'd be a piece of cake. Then you'd return to Bondi with your tunic loaded with 'fruit salad' and the
women would be crazy for you.'
'How would three years in a Jap POW camp grab you?' asked Bolland humorously. 'They tell me they
give you sheets there. We must try and make that our next stop. What about it, Mackie?'
'Like bloody hell! A Jap camp and you for three years! I just couldn't take it. Perhaps I could stand the
camp part of it, but not you as well. That's just not on. I'm off back to Aussie.
'Monty and his boys will be here in the morning,' stated someone optimistically, 'and then we'll be
back in Blighty.
'Shut up, you crazy bastard!' came the quick retort. 'You must be around the bloody bend. I suppose
you've been listening to Maxie Clarke's prophecies. They'll have to lock him up when he gets out of
here.'
'Have you heard the latest?' asked Blackston. 'Charlie Haynes has revised his forecast of the Russians' arrival,' and then there were roars of laughter.
The weather was icy cold and, although Dave was wrapped in his greatcoat, the eastern wind seemed to bite to the very bone.
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'Shit! It's cold,' mumbled Sandy Smith. 'I'm glad I've got something to wrap myself in or I'd bloody
die.'
'I nearly threw mine away when we left East Prussia,' volunteered Dave, 'for it was so hot that I
thought there was no need for it anymore. What made you hang on to yours, Sandy?'
'I was two years in the North African desert and I learnt a thing or two. Sometimes the days were so
hot that the sand would burn right through the leather of the boot and the glare would almost blind
you. Then the sun would go down and you'd bloody freeze. If you didn't have blankets you'd shudder
to death.'
'I reckon I would have liked to have been posted to North Africa,' remarked Dave. 'Flying over the
desert would have been my cup of tea. You were bombing soldiers, tanks, trucks et cetera and not
towns, and a lynching party didn't await you if shot down.'
'It was clean alright, Dave. There was nothing there except troop concentrations, truck convoys and
debris of burnt out vehicles and crashed aircraft. It was a hard war with nothing to impede swift
advances or rapid retreats. The men of Montgomery's Eighth Army were something special. They
were the corps elite who first made the Germans run. Boy, was their morale high!'
Both men turned into the hut which housed McDonald. The place was like a morgue, the inmates
being either out or in bed trying to keep warm.
Sandy yelled 'McDonald, you old bastard, where are you?'
'Shut up!' someone replied. 'Your yelling is causing wind draughts, and we can do without them and
the bloody cold they create.'
'Who wants me?' came a Canadian voice from beneath a blanket at the top end of the hut, and the
visitors knew they had found their man.
'How's the great Canadian?' enquired Dave, although he knew that the question was superfluous.
McDonald looked like he'd been through a mangle and all the juice had been squeezed out of him.
He'd had a rough time.
'I'm pretty good, Dave. Admittedly, I'm not at my best fighting weight, but things will pick up when I
get back into training. They say you sons-of-bitches have had your moments over the last eight months or so, but you'll survive.'
'They must have put you blokes through the mincer,' commiserated Dave. 'We've had it easy in
comparison
McDonald then told them of his wanderings since leaving East Prussia, elaborating on what Bolland
had said - the voyage by boat, the endless cattle truck journeys in search of a camp and a resting-place. It had all been a nightmare.
'Never mind', sympathised Dave, 'you're safe now and your old oppos are with you. By the way,
Bolland missed you.'
McDonald smiled at the mention of the big Canuck, and drawled, 'Like hell he did,' and they all burst
out laughing at the thought of Bolland missing anyone.
As the war dragged on, all the prophets, seers and visionaries extraordinaire started to fade into the
background. Charlie Haynes, in order to gain some credibility, had revised his forecast of the arrival of the Russians, but no-one cared anymore. They were all phoneys. However, Welling’s still believed that old Taylor had the answers, and Dave would have heated discussions with his friend over this.
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'You're bloody crazy, Welling’s, to believe that bullshit! Dave would explode. 'I believe you've gone
religious or something. When you get back to Liverpool you'll join a monastery and preach
'Revelations'.'
'It's all in 'Revelations', according to Taylor', would be Welling's reply. 'It's the last book in the Bible
and sums up everything that's happened or will happen - we'll have peace when this is over.'
'You believe in that crap! So we are all going to be sweet and cosy to each other once this is over are
we? Bullshit! We'll be at it again in 20 years’ time and your Taylors will still say it’s all in
Revelations. I think you're wire happy and around the bend.'
So the argument would continue, but for all that Dave had to admit that Welling’s was a good bloke
who'd he like to have in his corner when the chips were down. If Welling’s had a couple of square
meals under his belt and started to think about women and sex, then all this 'Revelations' bunkum
would disappear.
'I'd like to take you to a good restaurant, Welling’s,' declared Dave. 'Feed you up, then put you in bed with a buxom lass with big tits, and I'd bet you'd soon forget all this Revelations rubbish.'
'I suppose I would,' replied Welling’s with a chuckle. 'Give us a meal and let's see what happens. It
could be a revelation to both of us.'
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CHAPTER XXI
On 23rd March, 1945, Montgomery's armies crossed the Rhine near Wesel, and soon afterwards the
evacuation of the camp began. Already two separate batches of a thousand each had been marched out, and on the morrow a further 1,000 would leave. Dave, Welling’s and the rest of the gang were in the next day's exodus, and already they'd been given their farewell gift - a loaf of bread between two. It had been explained that there would be little likelihood of a further supply, as the Germans couldn't possibly conjure up thousands of loaves and transport them to those on the long, cold walk. The British Man-of-Confidence had urged frugality upon the kriegies concerning their eating habits, and warned them not to become separated from the person who had the loaf or someone would go hungry. Admittedly, the bread could be halved, but the loaf represented a common bond between two people, who would not only eat together, but help the other in sickness or distress.
The camp administration and discipline seemed to go haywire with the announcement of the big pull
out. The guards withdrew to the outer lager, not bothering to enter except in the morning, when the
daily batch was removed from the camp confines and another lot counted out, given their bread ration and departure orders for the following day. One food store had been broken into, but the contents weren't very exciting. There were literally sacks of dried peas and dehydrated vegetables and one could help oneself. Dave and Bill Welling’s filled their greatcoat pockets with dried peas and also a small quantity of vegetables, then beetled back to the hut.
The fire in the stove was burning merrily for it was piled high with bed boards.
'Come on, Dave!' urged Welling’s, 'Let's have a bloody feed of peas. Plenty of peas, plus water, will
make a soup. I used to have it when a kid. Terrific stuff to build you up.' So Dave put water in the pan
or billy and in went the peas.
'What's this bloody stuff?' asked Danzey about the dried vegetables. 'It looks like a greenish brown
wad of chewing tobacco.'
Very few had seen it before for the dehydration of vegetables in 1945 was a new experience.
'It looks like a hard piece of shit,' quipped Tennant, 'that's gone green with age. Something like the
ones you leave in the piss-bin overnight. Eh, Mackie!'
'I wouldn't eat it,' warned Smith. 'It has to be soaked in water for about twenty-four hours and then
boiled, otherwise it will swell in the stomach and give you hell. We had it in North Africa as a
substitute for fresh vegetables.'
'Then it's on with the pea soup,' quipped Welling’s, 'I can't wait that long. I'm bloody starving.'
The fire roared away, and the water in everybody's billy boiled, bubbled and disappeared and had to be topped up.
'I've never seen so much steam,' said Dave excitedly, 'and for once I feel warm. I'm almost cooking in
this greatcoat. I'm not taking it off for it's like a summer's day'
'Keep piling those boards on, we've got to get the peas soft,' ordered Slater, 'they're like bloody bullets. The bastards won't get soft.'
'The heat will do the trick,' stated Welling’s. 'It's the best softener I know. It'd be bloody funny if the
Germans changed their mind about tomorrow and we didn't go. We'd all be sleeping on the floor.'
'We've got the palliasses. I wouldn't mind taking mine with me on the march,' expressed Mackie.
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'You'd look bloody stupid humping that all over Germany,' remarked Bolland. 'They'd think you're a
camel or something. Besides, where the hell are we going? It's going to be a bastard out there. I'm not looking forward to it.'
'I heard,' stated Sandy Smith authoritatively, 'that they are marching 10 000 of us to Berchtesgaden and we'll be used by Hitler as hostages. His life for ours. I wonder if Churchill would trade? Do you
reckon we are worth it?'
'What do you mean, worth it? We are the cream of the British Empire', someone said. ‘They told us
that when we went for selection interview for aircrew training. The Squadron Leader on the panel said they wanted men of intelligence, integrity, super fit and all that sort of crap.’
'Shit! Look at us now!' exclaimed Smith. 'That Squadron Leader would change his mind in a hurry if
he paid us a visit. I suppose he's still shovelling out the same shit to intending aircrew.'
'These peas are so bloody hard that they almost crack my teeth, and they've been boiling two hours,'
grumbled Welling’s. 'I suppose they should have been soaked first.'
'Pile the boards on, mates!' commanded Mackie. 'We'll keep the fire roaring all night and for once I'll
be warm even if I have to sleep on top of it. Jesus, this heat makes you feel good. It's almost like being on Bondi. I might even strip off and get a tan for the top of the stove is red hot and it'll really brown or redden me up.'
'You'll have a burnt arse if you're not careful,' laughed Tennant.
'Okay, Dave, let's eat! I can't wait any longer,' ordered Welling’s. 'The bloody peas will never get any
softer and they've been boiling for at least three hours.'
So the feast commenced, but the peas were like rocks and not enjoyable. A spoonful was taken out, the water drained off, the residue blown on to cool, then placed in the mouth. This continued until they felt they wanted no more. Not that they felt full, but the fare was so indigestible.
'My bloody stomach,' complained Dave, 'it feels like a football.'
'Me, too,' replied Welling’s. 'I'm buggered if I know what's wrong. I'm going to lie on the palliasse – the bed boards are gone, so it'll have to be the floor.'
So Dave and Welling’s rested, while their stomachs seemed inflated and airborne and the farts and
flatulence whistled freely. 'Jesus! I've never felt so bad,' complained Welling’s, ' I think I'm going to
explode.'
'I feel the same,' agreed Dave. 'When I feel a little better I'm going to the shithouse to get rid of this
lot.'
In the afternoon things subsided sufficiently for the convalescents to walk around the camp for the last time.
'Don't forgot to stick close to me tomorrow, Dave,' Welling’s instructed, 'for on the march we could
easily become separated and then you'll be bloody hungry. Don't forget I've got the bread.'
'You've got no chance of getting rid of me, Billy Boy.' Dave confidently replied. 'That loaf's our
insurance policy and we'll go easy so it lasts.'
'The way my stomach feels, I don't want to eat anything. I'm still full and bloated. Do you think the
peas could be a cure for hunger? Pop a dozen or so in your mouth and you don't want any food.'
'Not bloody likely,' was Dave's reply. 'I'll never eat another pea as long as I live. They knock hell out
of you. I'd rather have the hunger.'
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The camp seemed like a town that had seen better days and gone seedy. The inhabitants either having moved away or those left not caring what happened. The whole German Reich was crumbling and grinding to a halt and the POW's were just so much human flotsam. The Russians were advancing rapidly from the east, while the Allied armies were across the Rhine in force and the kriegies were in the middle with nowhere to go. It was a bastard of a life and the following day would be full of surprises. Admittedly, it was freezing and the frost remained on the ground all day, but this ensured that the soil was like concrete and there would be no slushing through mud with wet socks and feet. The food situation was grim, and the sleeping accommodation from now on would be just as bad. It was a question of survival. Still Monty and his boys would soon be along and then everything would be over and back to normal.
The last night in the hut was a memorable affair. Everyone was lying on his palliasse on the cobbled
floor, while the top of the stove glowed red from the burning, crackling bed boards.
'This is the life!' exclaimed Welling’s. 'Eh, Dave! How about a slice of bread each? I'm hungry.'
'We'll keep it for tomorrow on the march,' answered Dave, 'for by noon we'll both be buggered. How
about some peas instead? You reckon it fixes hunger.' So the loaf was left intact, and the conversation rolled around the hut.
'I hope we don't sleep in a field tomorrow night,' stated Slater hopefully. 'The frost would be bloody
hell.'
'Do you remember when we came here?' questioned Mackie. 'How they told us that there'd be no more moves, no more cattle trucks and no enemy of the Third Reich would tread on German soil. How wrong they were!'
'They're only right in one respect,' quipped Tennant. 'there'll be no cattle trucks from now on. We'll
foot slog it everywhere. Good for the health.'
'Like bloody hell,' grumbled Slater, 'I'd rather stay in the pit with the blankets around me. Bugger
being healthy. I haven't a greatcoat and it'll be murder out there.'
'Not to worry,' commiserated Mackie, 'I haven't one either, so that makes two of us. Still, Bollard’s a
good sort of a bastard so he'll lend me his. Won't you, Bolland - for after all, what are mates for?'
'I'll think about it,' replied Bolland wisely. 'It depends on how cold it is.'
'I'll put some more boards on the fire,' volunteered Smith, 'for tonight we might as well be warm and
cosy.'
'My stomach feels a hell of a lot better now,' stated Welling’s. 'I thought I was going to die this
morning.'
'Talking about stomachs and dying,' proclaimed Smith, 'I heard some poor bastard kicked the bucket
today from eating those dried vegetables. Apparently, he ate them raw and they blew up in him,
rupturing his stomach.'
'Fair dinkum!' exclaimed Mackie. 'He really snuffed it?'
'That's what I heard,' answered Smith, 'and I wouldn't be surprised if it's true. That dehydrated stuff is murder and blows you up just like green pasture bloats cattle and they just heel over. Still this bloody place is full of rumours. It gives you the shits!'
'I think it would be true,' confirmed Welling’s. 'Dave and I boiled those peas for three hours and they
nearly killed us. Christ, I'd hate to eat them raw!'
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'Slater and I have oodles of that dehydrated vegetable stuff left and we'll be taking it with us
tomorrow,' declared Danzey, 'but I'll make certain we soak it overnight. I don't want my guts strewn all over the countryside.'
'Whose turn is it to put more wood on the fire?' demanded Mackie.
'Eh, Bolland, you do bugger all except enjoy the heat! Get out and do something!'
But there was no answer from the big Canuck, for the palliasse and the warmth of the room had had its effect and he was fast asleep.
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CHAPTER XXII
It was midday and the 1000 prisoners were scattered about a field close to the road eating their lunch. Welling’s had cut two equal slices off their most treasured possession, the loaf of bread, and now they were slowly chewing and savouring every crumb of it. 'Enjoy every fibre,' had been Welling’s' advice, 'and then it'll seem more and fill you up.' So as they sat there, wrapped in greatcoats as protection against the cold winds, each bite of food was explored thoroughly with the tongue and teeth and wasn't allowed to be swallowed until it had been fully examined.
That morning they had left the camp at about eight o'clock, so they had been on the road about four
hours. At first they had been lined up military fashion, in threes, and expected to walk briskly, but this had soon been abandoned as the kriegies tired. The marchers were flanked on either side by German guards with rifles, and there were some Alsatian dogs on leads. Further, there were two or three motor cyclists who careered up and down to ensure all was correct. After about fifteen minutes the main road had been forsaken, and the POWs had been led along the by-ways and lanes. It was obvious that the kriegies were being shunted out of the way, for if they remained on the autobahns then the flow of war traffic would be impeded. Consequently, the urgency of pace receded and the tempo of the marchers slowed down to suit the rural surroundings, resulting in the column becoming very spread out over a long distance and the marchers clustered together in twos, threes or fours. The guards urged them to keep closer together with shouts, threats, and the fixing of bayonets, but realising that the prisoners didn't have energy or the inclination to comply soon gave up. The march hadn't been too bad so far as the dirt roads were hard from the frost and progress had been fairly leisurely, contrasting sharply with the pace set in the first quarter of an hour or so. At ten a.m. a halt had been called, and the prisoners had rested on either side of the road. Dave and Welling’s had resisted the temptation to eat, keeping the loaf intact, although no food had been consumed by them that day.
'How do you feel, Billy Boy?' enquired Dave. 'Don't tell me you're buggered already. You should be in
great shape after all the circuit bashing we've done together.'
'My leg muscles don't feel tired at all. I suppose we haven't travelled too far - - - - about seven
kilometres at the most. The pace is fairly leisurely.'
'I'm bloody hungry,' complained Dave, 'this one piece of bread at a time nonsense knocks hell out of
you.'
'We'll have two pieces each tonight for dinner,' stated Welling’s, 'but Christ knows where we'll be when that comes around.'
'As long as we don't sleep in a field, I don't give a shit where it is, but I must have a roof over my
head.'
'The bastards wouldn't be that lousy,' criticised Welling’s. 'sleeping in a field with the type of frosts
we've been getting would really be something.'
The prisoners were roused to their feet by the shouting of the guards and the afternoon march
commenced. The members of the gang: Bolland, Mackie, Tennant, Smith, Slater et cetera had paired
into twos and were now distributed throughout the column. It was impossible to stick together for
there was no allotted hut to return to at the end of the day where notes and yarns could be exchanged, and where the usual camaraderie was so much in evidence. This was now a thing of the past.
Dave and Welling’s pushed on with the rest of the 'lost tribe', going one knew not where. It was just on and on, an aimless exercise in futility and direction. The rumours, as usual, were rife, but the one that gained most credence was that they were heading for the Bavarian Alps where they would be traded as hostages. How this rumour had come about, no-one knew, but it was the most colourful so the kriegies accepted it as 'pukka gen'. How Hitler would feed 10,000 extra mouths in his mountainous redoubt was difficult to comprehend, for the loaf of bread between two people couldn't last forever. The food
[page break]
situation was the biggest problem, for altogether there would be ten different batches of 1000 each
when they were all on the march, and the Germans couldn't possibly feed the lot. In addition, the
advantage was held by the first batch of marchers for if there was any food to be gleaned then they
would swallow it all up, leaving nothing for those coming behind.
The wind still whistled coldly and although it was still early afternoon, the previous night's frost still
lay on the banks which skirted the sides of the road, Dave felt grateful that his greatcoat still graced his body for if he'd discarded it in the warm days of the previous summer then things would be a bit
rugged now. He shrank within the warm, protective covering and released himself from the immediate situation by thinking of other things. Letters from Joan and his mother had been non-existent for quite a while, but so had everything else. A letter from either of them would have done his morale a heap of good, but it wasn't to be. He hoped that Joan still cared for him for he would be severely shaken if she'd changed her mind. However, this had happened to so many prisoners of war: wives had forsaken husbands, girlfriend their fiancés, and loved ones had found other consoling arms. One couldn't expect a girl to wait forever, for time dims the memory and the new replaces the old. He believed in her though and felt that all would end well, but when that would be was difficult to judge. His mother had had a rough war. The three males in the family, his father, brother and he all serving in one branch or other of the Fighting Services and being scattered, at the moment, all over the world. He knew, with certainty, that she'd be there when all was over, but the punishment, worry and uncertainty that had been meted out to her would have surely taken its toll. If the three of them arrived back in the U.K. all in one piece, then he felt that someone up there had kept a friendly eye on the Griffins.
The sun was now starting to lower and the column had really begun to spread out. From first to last,
the marchers must have occupied well over a kilometre of road. The guards tried to hurry the
stragglers and make the column more cohesive, but it was impossible, for familiarity now meant
contempt, and the prisoners were indifferent and too tired to care. They had been on the road now for about eight hours and had had enough for the first day. It would be dark within an hour, so where were they to be bedded down?
Within twenty minutes they were led into their haven, a large farm with what seemed oodles of barns or outhouses. The kriegies were told that they would sleep in the barns, and roll call and departure time would be 7.30 a.m. the next morning. Further, the perimeter of the farm would be guarded by soldiers and dogs, and anyone attempting escape would be shot. So the prisoners were left to their own devices - to find a bed for the night, to prepare a meal of bread, and then to sleep and recover for the next day's journey.
The barn that Dave and Welling’s entered was very large, being open-ended. There was a pathway
down the middle with hay piled on either side. They found a place to dump their belongings and so
staked a claim to the night's resting place. Dave stretched himself out on the soft, inviting hay.
'This will do me!' he exclaimed. 'It'll be warm here, especially if I burrow a little. Don't wake me early, Bill, for I need a long rest after today's trek.'
'Let's get that bread out,' ordered Welling’s, 'and eat! I'm starving. I've only had one slice of bread all
day.'
So the loaf was produced, and Dave was just about to start cutting when Sandy Smith and Tennant
joined them.
'Listen!' Sandy whispered confidentially, 'I've found a goldmine. I was lying on the hay when I found a potato. So I burrow deep down and discover millions of the bastards. The farmer must have clamped his spud crop in these barns, just like we clamp them in earthen pits at home. Let's get a stack of them, light a fire, and boil enough for the four of us.'
They needed no second bidding and were soon outside. However, they'd been beaten to the punch, for already there were prisoners, loaded with potatoes with the same idea.
[page break]
'I thought the gen you gave us was confidential,' laughed Dave. 'Everybody's into it and have the same idea.'
'I bet I'm sleeping on a potato bed, too,' stated Welling’s. 'I'll be digging when I return.'
So the fire was lit, two billies filled with water and spuds and, once the fire was blazing strongly,
potatoes were also placed amongst the burning embers. It was going to be a big spud bust for
everyone.
It was dark now, but the red glow from hundreds of fires gave the place a carnival atmosphere.
Everyone was happy for this would be a feed to remember - as many potatoes as one could eat, plus
bread.
'I can hardly wait,' laughed Smith excitedly. 'I'll get one out of the fire and try it. Jesus, it's bloody hot!' Then he spluttered, 'It's not only hot, but hard as a rock. I reckon I can wait another twenty minutes and then really enjoy it.'
'Have you seen any of the gang?' asked Dave. 'I bet Bolland and Mackie will be taking a sackful with
them tomorrow. They'll hump them all over Germany.'
'You bet they will,' answered Tennant, 'but I haven't seen any of the boys. They'll be here somewhere though. We'll most probably bump into some of them tomorrow, or the next day or some time,' concluded Tennant.
When all the potatoes were ready, the boiled and the baked, the fire was doused and the four moved into the barn.
'Let's have bread, too,' declared Dave extravagantly. 'A couple of slices each will make my stomach
think it's Christmas.'
'How about one slice,' cautioned Welling’s. 'We'll eat the spuds and bread and see how we go. Eh,
Dave!' So the four got stuck into it. The boiled potatoes were attacked first, and then the baked ones
for their jackets had cooled sufficiently by the time the first course was over.
'Shit! This is the best meal I've ever had. I could stay here for the rest of my life,' claimed Smith
euphorically, 'and just eat spuds. It would be bloody marvellous! Tennant, are there any left for
breakfast?'
'Why didn't we think of that?' Dave demanded of Welling’s. 'Cold spuds would go well about seven
a.m., and it would save the bread ration. I've only had the potatoes and one slice of bread and I'm full as a tick.'
'Me, too,' agreed Welling’s. 'We've done well, Dave. Only two slices out of the loaf each. All the more for tomorrow. By the way, you can wash the cooking utensils and I'll do it tomorrow. Okay?'
Afterwards, Dave and Welling’s retired to their reserved sleeping accommodation and Dave stretched and nestled into the hay.
'Bloody marvellous)' he sighed. 'This is better than the palliasse. Our luck's changed. Let's hope the
open road is always like this and there are spuds wherever we go. What the bloody hell are you doing, Welling’s?'
'I'm burrowing for potatoes. You don't think I could go to sleep when there's a gold mine below me. I'd have nightmares if I missed out on this strike.'
So Welling’s worked like a rabbit, and finally surfaced with a nugget.
'Look at the size of this bastard!' he shouted. 'What do you think of it?'
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'How the hell do you expect me to see it in this light?' demanded Dave. 'It's bloody dark or didn't you
realise it?'
'Feel it then!' he commanded, thrusting it into Dave's hands. 'We'll load up tomorrow, Davey Boy, and never be hungry again.'
Welling’s plopped down in the hay and started to slap his bare stomach beneath the shirt.
'What the hell are you doing now?' Dave asked angrily. 'You're making a racket. I want to sleep.'
'I'm just feeling good. This is the first time my belly has felt loaded for years. It's a marvellous feeling.
Don't forget to remind me about the spuds in the morning. I'd cut my throat if I left without them.'
'We'll get 'em,’ assured Dave, 'so don't worry! Now go to sleep, for we'll be up at 6.30 a.m. and it'll be a long, cold march tomorrow. Goodnight, Bill! This bloody hay is not only soft, but warm. It'll do me.'
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CHAPTER XXIII
The day so far had been long and tiring, and the journey endless. It was the fifth day of the long, long
trek and the prisoners were footsore and browned off. No-one seemed to know where they were going and, apart from the usual rumours, the whole exercise seemed futile. The marchers felt that it would have been far better if they had been left in the camp, which would have been finally overrun by the advancing Allied armies, rather than fleeing aimlessly and eventually being overtaken and liberated. What was the difference? They felt that both plans of action would conclude in the same way.
Dave's feet were giving him hell. His socks, which had been darned and darned again, had now given
way under the constant friction of sock rubbing boot and large holes had appeared in each. Now the
heels of his feet, no longer padded by a cushion of wool, were bearing the full brunt of each step
forward and the blisters formed had burst and were sore and inflamed.
When the midday rest had been taken, Dave and Welling’s had finished off the loaf with a slice each,
and a cold potato.
'There goes the last of the Mohicans!' exclaimed Bill. 'It'll be shit or bust from now on, spuds only.'
'God, help us if the spuds run out,' was Dave's reply, 'we'll really cop out then.'
'We've always found them so far,' was Welling’s confident reply, 'so they'll be there in the barn when we bed down tonight.' Christ, I'll turn into a bloody rabbit by the time this caper's over. That's all I do is burrow and scratch my way through hay.'
'Then we're prepared for a rainy day for if we don't strike gold tonight, we've still got this,' Dave
stated, tapping a small sack-like container on the ground. 'It's bloody heavy lugging it around, but it's
insurance against hunger. We'll have spuds tonight, rain or shine, and cold ones for tomorrow's
breakfast and midday break.' There was a lull in the conversation and then Dave continued, 'My
bloody feet are killing me. What we want is a day's rest from this marching and then I could soak them in a stream or something.'
'Your feet would freeze. I'm afraid you'll have to stick it out. Anyway, you'll get better. You're not
going to die on me? You're too bloody lousy to do that for you wouldn't leave the spuds behind. You'd be turning in your grave at the thought of me scoffing the lot.'
The prisoners were roused to their feet by the guards and it was on with the afternoon stint: the long straggling column plodding its way into the heart of nowhere. The kriegies, the packhorses of the scenario and bent low by the burden of their worldly possessions, divorced themselves from the
proceedings by thinking of the past when things had been green, shining, wonderful and seemingly
forever.
The afternoon monotony was suddenly broken by the scream of approaching low flying aircraft, and
within seconds the way had been cleared. Everybody, including the guards, ducked for cover.
It was every man for himself, preservation being uppermost. Welling’s threw himself into a ditch and
Dave landed almost on top of him. The aircraft were so low that it seemed that they would land on the road or brush the prostrate prisoners. It was frightening. The high pitch roar of the engines was
deafening and reverberated throughout the surrounding countryside. Then they were gone, and things got back to normal as the marchers extricated themselves from their positions.
'I thought we were gone that time,' stated Dave. 'That sort of treatment shakes the shit out of you. I
thought the bullets were going to fly at any moment.'
'They were Typhoons, and ours,' claimed Welling’s. ‘Why they didn't open up is beyond me. We must have looked like German troop concentrations.'
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'Most probably they didn't have any ammo left or they would have blasted us all over the place. Thank God for small mercies!' breathed Dave.
The trek resumed, but everyone had been shaken out of their lethargy for the Allied planes had come too close for comfort. There were aircraft almost constantly in the sky, but they had always passed within a kilometre or so. Never had they been so low and directly overhead as if they were searching for something to destroy. The Allied command couldn't possibly know that 10 000 POWs were on the march, and would conclude that they were German troop movements.
Then the roar was heard again and everyone scattered, Dave running to the base of a tree and kneeling down as if in prayer. The thunderous roar seemed so close, but actually the planes passed within about 200 metres to the right and then were gone.
Again there was a reassembling and the usual derogatory remarks, such as: 'The lousy bastards!' 'Why don't they go looking for real targets?' 'Shit! We have enough troubles without having to take cover from our own planes!' 'They'll kill us all if they go on like this - some crazy pilot will report enemy troop concentrations and then we'll be blown off the road and on our way to Kingdom Come'. So the long walk continued and it was with a sigh of relief that they arrived at a farm for the night's rest.
So far they had been fortunate, for a roof always awaited them at the journey's end and also plenty of spuds. However, this time there were none. The usual sleeping accommodation in the hay was
available, but there were two big barns with a sentry posted on each, and it was there that the potatoes had to be. Dave and Welling’s had spuds, but they were thinking of the future: tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. They, like all the kriegies, had no bread left so stocks had to be replenished. They conferred about a plan of action and after a reconnaissance, decided which barn should be raided. Welling’s would approach the solitary sentry and offer him Dave's Parker fountain pen with the gold nib for spuds, while Dave was to sneak in at the side, where the corrugated sheeting didn't quite reach to the ground, and do his smash-and-grab act.
Welling’s did his stuff, but the guard wouldn't have any of it, and when he persisted with his sales
patter was ushered away by a menacing bayonet. Meanwhile, Dave was inside the barn discovering
that the wall of hay was about two feet from the corrugated iron side. He scrambled up and started to burrow. It was relatively easy and soon his small, sack-like container was full, so it was time to retreat. Treading warily, he arrived back at the entrance, but now had to descend the six-foot hay wall in order to crawl under the tin. It was difficult with the potatoes, so he dropped them towards the escape hatch, but hashed it when the sack hit the iron sheeting, making what seemed an almighty din. There was no time to waste now for the sentry must have heard. Dave jumped, and his boots and hands came into contact with the noise-reverberating sheeting. Grabbing the potato sack, he scrambled under the tin, catching his clothing on a jagged edge. He was caught, half in-half out, and then saw the guard, bayonet fixed, turn the corner and run towards him. He pushed outwards, tearing himself loose, and then was running like hell, the sentry barely ten feet behind. The pursuer seemed crazy and was yelling for Dave to stop, but there were two incentives to keep going: firstly, the potatoes were now his and he wasn't going to give them up; and, secondly, the guard was in such a rage that he'd give Dave a taste of his steel, so there was no advantage in stopping. Dave ran, his lungs almost bursting, but the German wasn't giving up, being intent on running him down. He ran into and through barns, in and out of groups of prisoners busy lighting fires for the evening meal, and through a morass of soft, moist dung or manure.
Dave was buggered when he staggered into a large, empty dairy and the sound of his feet on the
flagstone floor and the pounding of his heart seemed to reverberate from every corner of the whitewashed walls. He ran its length, pushed his way through the half open door at the end, and slammed it hard behind him. As he went, he could hear the rattling and thumping on the door which had obviously jammed and wouldn't open. He'd escaped and still had the spuds. Reaching the barn where Welling’s and he had dumped their gear, he lay on the hay, a lather of perspiration, his breath coming in hard, hurtful gasps and then closed his eyes. He was completely and utterly buggered.
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A few minutes later, Welling’s joined him. 'I saw that bastard chasing you and thought you were a
goner. You ought to give the Olympics a try,' he joked, 'when the war's over. You'd go well in the
obstacle race.'
'Bugger the obstacle race,' was Dave's reply, 'I've had enough hurdles for a lifetime. It's alright for you to joke, but it'd been different sort of setup if you'd had the bayonet up your arse.'
'Not to worry! He didn't get you, and we've got the spuds. I'll show you what a good bloke I am. I'll
light the fire, cook the potatoes and wash up. How does that grab you? You rest and the head cook and bottle washer will do all the work! You're a lucky bastard, Dave, to have an oppos like me. By the
way, if there were a bakery around,' he added facetiously, 'I'd send you out on another raiding mission. You've got to keep your hand in, you know.'
After a meal of spuds and more spuds, they discussed the day's happenings. The monotony of the
march, the state of the blistered feet, the low flying Allied aircraft and the spud situation.
'Strange!' exclaimed Welling’s. 'For four days no-one stopped us from getting as many potatoes as we liked, but when we arrived here they got tough and placed guards on the bloody things. I think the policy's changed and things are going to get rough. We could become very hungry.'
'The way that mad sentry chased me, I think that spuds will get scarcer and scarcer from now on.
Anyone would have thought I'd broken into the Bank of England,' Dave concluded with a laugh.
'I'll tell you what, ' volunteered Welling’s, 'we're sitting ducks for Allied aircraft. We must be mistaken sooner or later for German troops on the march, and then we'll get hurry-up. I don't think the column's all that safe.'
'It's not only the aeroplanes, but this walking without food.
It's not so bad as long as we've got the spuds, but if they go, then God help us! Have you noticed how the column gets spread out?'
'It's spread out all day, and it'll get worse as the days drag on. Everybody's getting tired and fed up,'
replied Welling’s.
'But towards the end of the day the column becomes an almighty mess', persisted Dave, 'we spread out over a long distance and the guards can't police the lot. There's not enough of them. We could piss-off together and link up with the advancing Allied armies. They must be getting close. It would be a piece of cake.'
'A piece of cake? Like bloody hell! I think it wouldn't be hard to leave the column, but how the hell do we stay alive until rescued. Before leaving the camp they told us that column meant security and if anyone left they'd be shot.'
'That's what worries me,' confided Dave, 'this shooting business. I'd like to go, but quite frankly I'm
scared stiff. Where do we go when we make the break, and what do we do for food? I know we've got the spuds, but they won't last forever.'
'If we go then,' said Welling’s, 'it'll be late in the day and we go together. Things must get rougher if we stick with the marchers, but if we're on our own, then surely we'll be able to scrounge food from
somewhere. We won't get any help from the civilians, for this is Germany, not Holland. There'll be no Underground to help us, and they'll all be out to see that we get the chop.'
'I want to go,' affirmed Dave, 'but I'll have to pluck up courage between then and now. It's dicey and
I'm too young to die.'
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'Me, too! I want to get back to Liverpool in one piece, settle down and have a few kids. I'm fed up with this bloody mad world where you're nothing but a pack horse and you rest and walk when ordered. Bugger this for a life!'
'Anyway, we don't have to go tomorrow,' procrastinated Dave, 'we can see how things go and play it
according to Hoyle or whoever. We'll get there, Bill, so no worries.'
'I know how you feel, Dave, but I suppose we'll do it when the time comes.'
'Let's take one day at a time, and tomorrow can look after itself. Goodnight,’
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CHAPTER XXIV
Two days later Dave and Welling’s left the security of the column for the uncertainty of the great
unknown. At about 3 p.m. the marchers had spread themselves out over about two kilometres of road - the weary and the sick very much to the rear. The guards had almost given up remonstrating with their charges to keep together, for it was an impossible and thankless task. Welling’s and Dave had deliberately placed themselves in a position where there was a dearth of supervision, and from where escape could be most easily effected. Nearly all that day their conversation had centred on the proposed getaway, but this had also happened during the previous 24 hours with no result. Both men were becoming a little testy, for their planning and resolve had not been put into practice and each felt, within himself, that the necessary courage was lacking. They both wanted to go, but the enormity of the act and the probable repercussions acted as a deterrent.
The road now was curving to the right and threading its way through fairly heavily wooded country,
thus screening the marchers from those behind and in front. If the moment for escape was opportune, this was it. Suddenly, Dave bolted, ran down the side of the bank supporting the road, reached the trees, and then threw himself down in an undulation on the ground. He was concealed from the road by the stout butt of a large tree and the springtime undergrowth.
He lay there his heart pounding, for he could see the passing column. Then someone threw himself
down beside him. It was Welling’s.
'You've buggered it now!’ hissed Dave. 'The guard must have seen you. We'll both be bloody shot.
You silly bastard.'
Welling’s said nothing, both of them lying as flat as possible on their stomachs and eyes to the ground. Every so often Dave would squint towards the road and witness the passing of the column. It seemed to take ages for the road to empty and for the escapees to feel that they were alone. However, they didn't move from their position for at least half an hour, as if where they were represented security from the dangers that lay ahead.
'We can't stay here forever,' muttered Dave, breaking the silence. 'What do we do now?'
'We'll go and get those spuds,' replied Welling’s, 'so let's get cracking!'
Dave didn't have to ask what he meant, for about a kilometre or so back they had witnessed some tired and overburdened prisoner throw to the side of the road a small quantity of potatoes wrapped in a makeshift bag, and their recovery was given number one priority. Keeping about 30 metres from the road, they followed its direction and found their objective. The spuds, 11 in number, were counted out twice to ensure the value of the treasure.
'We're loaded!' Welling’s laughed quietly. 'now let's get some cover and have something to eat. It'll be dark in half an hour so the sooner we get organised the better.'
In a small copse they took refuge, and the spuds, cooked the previous evening, were doled out two to a person and slowly eaten.
'Let's have one more each? I'm bloody hungry,' grumbled Dave, 'and to hell with the expense.'
So the food supply was dealt a body-blow and the two munched contentedly.
'How about some more?' queried Dave. 'We can afford it. After all, those eleven potatoes are a bonus.'
'Like hell!' retorted Welling’s. ‘What about tomorrow, you hungry bastard?'
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So the party was over, and it being dark they decided to push on. 'Which way is it?' demanded
Welling’s. 'We're going towards the Allied lines, aren't we? So where's that?'
'How the hell should I know,' replied Dave, 'I'm not a bloody magician.
'You're the navigator, aren't you?’ retorted Welling’s. 'So pull your finger out, and let's weave out of
this bloody place.'
They pushed on, Dave endeavouring to keep the Pole star on his right, ensuring that his direction was
westward. However, progress was slow and impeded by small trees, protruding roots which stubbed
the boots hard and unmercifully, and deep indentations and rocks.
'Shit! This is hard work,' complained Welling’s, 'we'll reach the Allied armies in about ten years’ time
at this rate.'
'Talk about the babes in the wood,' wryly remarked Dave, 'we're giving a pretty good pantomime
performance, but not charging admission.'
On they went and although it was bitterly cold, both felt warm and sweated profusely. Perhaps it was fear that generated the heat and also the exertion expended. For they both knew that if they met someone they would be challenged and death could result. It was a ticklish position. They kept going and gradually the darkness was replaced by the lengthening light and so it was time to call a halt and rest in a thicket, which offered concealment and protection from the winds.
During the morning of the next day they remained hidden and conversed in whispers. Their fear was
that someone would discover them both asleep and, being afraid, might dispatch them to Kingdom
Come with some blunt instrument or rifle bullet.
'We made bugger all progress last night,' stated Dave bluntly, 'and we'll make less tonight if we stick
to the woods and fields. I reckon we'd be safer if we walked during the day along a lane or bye-way. If we see someone, we'll just walk straight past and brazen it out. How about it?'
So the plan was adopted, and that afternoon away they went. They felt more secure this way for
daylight meant safety. They reasoned that no-one committed dastardly deeds during the hours of light, but darkness and crime were synonymous. As they went, they realised that Germany housed nearly every European nationality. The Germans had Russians, Yugoslavs, Poles, French, the lot, working as slave labour on the land and in the factories, while the German male was away fighting at the front. Thus no-one took any notice of the two fliers, believing them to be slave workers, too, from some part of German Occupied Europe. It was the dogs that were a nuisance, as they always welcomed them with barks and sometimes bared fangs as they approached what they thought was their territory or domain.
They walked all that day and, being unchallenged, were emboldened to stay the night in a farm shed. They reasoned that it was unlikely that they would be disturbed and were far safer than lying in a forest thicket. They ate the remaining cooked potatoes brought from the camp and still felt hungry. However, they didn't hoe into the eleven raw spuds which had been rescued from the side of the road.
‘Keep those for tomorrow,' explained Welling’s, 'for they'll keep the wolf from the door. I wish the hell we had some way of cooking them. Raw spuds don't exactly turn me on.'
'Cooking them? You're the supreme optimist, Welling’s, if you think we can light a fire and hang
around until they boil. You must be around the bend.'
'I reckon walking by day is the shot. No-one's bailed us up or taken much notice,' stated Welling’s. 'The only people you see are Russians, Yugoslavs, French et cetera, and some old Germans and young children. We haven't seen a soldier yet, so let's hope our luck continues.'
'I suppose all the soldiers are at the front, but where the hell that is, God only knows?'
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'We'll get there,' laughed Welling’s, 'for you're a bloody good navigator, Dave,' and then added, for
good measure, 'I suppose you were going the wrong way when you were shot down.'
'Something like that,' replied Dave, 'so let's go to sleep for we have a long way to walk tomorrow,
especially if we get lost a few times.'
They made a late start the next day, having overslept. They upbraided themselves for their tardiness,
little realising that their strength and energy had been severely taxed over the last year and their
reserves were at a low ebb. They kept to the bye-ways and lanes and saw little motor traffic, only the horse-drawn, slow-moving, creaking carts or wagons. The slave labour, recruited from the four corners of German occupied Europe, tilled the fields, milked the cows and performed the hundred and one jobs necessary to ensure that the German nation didn't starve and the war effort on all fronts was maintained. It was a strange and weird world, the manhood of Germany was being slaughtered on the peripheries of the Greater Reich, while those they had subjugated were now keeping the home fires burning.
As they pushed on, the way was blocked by a large group of Polish POWs marching towards them,
accompanied by German guards. However, the experiences of the last few years ensured that the
escapees were prepared for all eventualities and just kept going, threading their way through the oncoming 'traffic'. No-one seemed to take any notice of them except an RAF flyer whom they knew from their camp days and whose blue uniform contrasted sharply with the khaki of the Poles. He touched his head in salute and said, 'Good afternoon, gentlemen. It's a splendid day to be on the road', and then continued his progress.
They got through the horde without being challenged, and then Welling’s laughingly asked, 'What the bloody hell is he doing with a lot of Poles, and going the wrong way into the bargain?'
'It could be the right way,' replied Dave, 'for all we know, and we could be arse-about-face.'
'We must be right,' confirmed Welling’s, 'for the Germans would be leading the Poles away from the
advancing armies, not towards them. Anyway, you're the navigator, so keep working!'
They continued on and, within an hour, were confronted by a large contingent of French POWs
blocking the way. Again they threaded and brushed their way through, no-one taking any notice. It
seemed that the whole prisoner population was on the march towards some unspecified place of safety. However, in a rapidly shrinking Germany, whose extremities were being pummelled and battered by the Russians in the East and the Allied armies in the West, where was this Shangri-La?
At about 2 p.m. they stopped at the side of the road to break their fast and ate three raw potatoes each. It was both unpalatable and indigestible, but hunger knew no bounds and every morsel was devoured. Then it was up and away towards the elusive front and deliverance.
It was getting towards dusk when they heard two almighty bangs and the screaming of missiles.
'It's a bloody bazooka!' exclaimed Welling’s. 'Shit! I hope we don't run into anything like that. Bugger
the front. It sounds rough.'
However, they heard nothing further and started looking for somewhere to bed down.
'We'd better stop this walking caper,' counselled Dave, 'or we might run into the military, who'll bail us up or shoot us.'
'Not to worry!' advised Welling’s. 'No-one knows what the hell's going on and it's simple as A.B.C. We haven't been challenged so far. Everyone must think we're slave workers. Germany is brimming over with the bastards. Let's go on!'
The journey continued without a sleeping place revealing itself.
[page break]
'Another ten minutes,' coaxed Welling’s, 'and if we don't find somewhere, then we'll sleep under a bush or something. Right?' So on they went, only to be confronted with a bridge. But what was a bridge? Their confidence was overbrimming, and then Lady Luck deserted them.
'Stop or I'll shoot!' the order rang out in German, hard and metallic. 'Come here!'
They had almost made the crossing, but what to do now? If they bolted, there would be a fusillade of shots followed, in all probability, by their total eclipse. They had come this far only to disappear into total oblivion and no-one would ever know what had happened to them. They would be classed as two among the millions of missing war dead, who disappeared without trace and found an unsung grave.
It was only a second or two since the command had been given, yet it seemed like eternity. Both of
them, realising that discretion was the better part of valour, turned simultaneously and walked towards the sentry, who had now been joined by four other soldiers. They were prisoners again.
In a farmhouse close to the bridge, they were interrogated by a German officer who ascertained they were British POWs. They were given some bread and coffee and then conducted to what seemed a long, low roofed stable with a cobbled stone floor. Being locked in, they unrolled their blankets and, still in greatcoats, curled up on the hard floor and were asleep within minutes.
[page break]
CHAPTER XXV
Dave woke heavy-lidded and out of sorts, for he was tired and felt that he could have slept forever.
However, it was the noise that had disturbed him for he was surrounded by a ring of laughing German soldiers, who kept pointing at a completely blanketed figure next to him. The laughter and good humoured banter continued, forcing Dave to a sitting position and the realisation that the stoned floor was mighty hard for the bum. Fatigue and exhaustion had, the previous night, nullified all hardships and he had slept like a babe.
'Shit!' he muttered. 'These stupid Hun bastards laugh at anything. They must be bloody crazy.'
He felt disgruntled and browned off. Not only was he a prisoner again, but he felt lousy, and needed a bath, a shave, and a square meal to put things right.
The laughter and the finger pointing continued with urgings for Dave to remove the blankets, but to no avail. Dave wasn’t a bit curious, for he'd had his share of happenings and surprises over the last
eighteen months and, besides, he was too buggered to lift a finger to find out the source of amusement. It would have to be the five card trick to raise a smile from him. Finally, one of the soldiers stepped forward and, like a magician, swept away the covering cloth to reveal a fully-dressed, uniformed figure, whose pallor was deathly white.
'So what?' was Dave's immediate reaction. 'Can't a soldier have a sleep without the world making a
fuss about it?'
But the song and dance act continued, forcing him to look again at the motionless body. Then it
dawned what all the commotion was about: the German soldier was dead and had been placed next to him during the night. However, the discovery made little or no impact for he no longer cared - --
nothing was new to him, it was all part of living. The word 'schnapps' was mentioned several times,
and Dave deduced that the dead soldier had imbibed too freely of a wood alcohol brew which had
proven his undoing.
Finally, the soldiers departed, leaving Welling’s, Dave and the dead soldier alone.
'Tough luck on him!' exclaimed Welling’s, roughly covering the corpse with the blanket. 'How did you
sleep, Davey Boy? Was the cobbled mattress a bit severe on the old rump?'
'I didn't feel it. I was so tired I reckon I could have slept on a pin cushion. I'm hungry though. I hope
the bastards feed us!'
And almost immediately the wish was granted for a soldier entered with some bread and margarine.
So they ate away, completely ignoring the dead one at their side, for this world, they had learned, was for the quick only. The dead had to fend for themselves.
Within twenty minutes, escorted by two guards, they were on their travels, but this time on foot. They were passed by several troops of soldiers going in the opposite direction, but nothing untoward occurred until the road, which was raised from the surrounding countryside, passed a railway siding.
'Christ! What the hell is the Chain Gang doing here?' demanded Bill, in a voice of disbelief. 'I thought
their activities were confined to Georgia and the Southern states.'
Dave took a long, hard look at the emaciated, ghoulish figures still being unloaded from the cattle
trucks and also those who had already arrived on the road in their ones, twos and threes. They looked peculiar and out of place in their striped pyjama-looking clothes, and it was obvious that death was hovering close as they stumbled, fell, rose and moved painfully slowly towards extinction. Their final eclipse being hastened by the brutality of their captors who flogged them unmercifully. The whips
[page break]
were really cracking, and two of the pyjamaed figures were driven, by the fury of the onslaught, to the roadside where they collapsed and rolled down the incline.
'Jesus Christ! What have we walked into,' queried Dave incredulously, 'a horror movie or something?'
'Those two who went over the side were as dead as door-nails, and that big, bloody, German ape over there will get a taste of this,' replied Welling’s, clenching both his fists, 'and if that's not enough, I'll give him a rock in the kisser.'
The guard, accompanying them, sensing his hostility remonstrated with him to refrain by patting his
pistol and urging him forward. So within a minute the macabre sight was behind them and neither
POW wished to look back and be reminded of the bestiality they'd witnessed. They had never
encountered such behaviour or treatment before, for the conduct of the guards within the camp had
always been strict but fair. Little did they know that the Jews and political prisoners of the Third Reich received no mercy and survival was almost an impossibility. The two POWs, unbeknown to them, were within one kilometre of the infamous Belsen concentration camp, which made news headlines when it was overrun by the Allied liberating armies in mid-April, 1945.
Within half an hour, they arrived at the panzer school at Bergen and were taken to the cooler, where
they were duly signed for and locked into a small cell with sufficient space for one person only. They
had asked the gaoler, a feldwebel, to be housed together, for solitary meant loneliness and isolation.
They could put up with the closeness of the confines providing they had someone to talk to.
'The bunk's big enough for one only, so shall I have first go or shall we toss for it?' asked Dave. 'You
can stretch out on the floor.'
'Okay, by me,' replied Bill. 'Let's get some shut-eye.
They slept for a couple of hours and woke feeling really refreshed.
Perhaps it wasn't the rest that had revitalised them, but the sense of security that had been newly acquired. Now that they were prisoners again they hoped that food would be forthcoming at regular
intervals; an untimely end by a bullet was less likely; and their gaoler, the feldwebel, was responsible
for their welfare and safety. Admittedly, they were once again prisoners of the Third Reich,
incarcerated in a narrow cell and doing solitary, but being together made hardship a piece of cake.
Further, they were warm, even if not comfortable.
Their lot was further improved when the door was unlocked and the feldwebel beckoned them outside to a small table situated in the corridor, where there was bread, sausage and two mugs of acorn coffee. It was a feast fit for a king, and they tucked in while their gaoler just sat and watched. The guard seemed to be having a really slack time for all the cells were empty, except one, and they were soon introduced to its inmate, a German soldier of about twenty-five. He, hearing the noise from the 'partygoers', banged on the door claiming he wanted a toilet break and so was let out. On his return, he was allowed to sit with the three of them before being bundled back into his cell. Dave's curiosity was aroused and he discovered that the soldier was a deserter awaiting court martial. When the feldwebel was asked what would eventually be the soldier’s fate, he laughingly drew his fingers across his throat.
That afternoon Welling’s took the bunk, Dave the floor and they discussed the deserter.
'Poor bastard!' sympathised Dave. 'He'll get the chop for sure -a firing squad and a bullet right between the eyes. The military are tough on people who piss-off without permission, especially the Hun.'
'He seems bloody cheerful for a man awaiting court martial, remarked Welling’s. 'I'd be shitting myself if I were in his shoes.'
'Perhaps he thinks the war will be over before they get around to putting him on trial and then he'll get off the hook. So I suppose he's on his knees all day praying for the Allies to beat hell out of his side.'
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'Not him,' stated Welling’s positively, 'he doesn't seem to give a tinker's cuss. I bet he's been in trouble all his life and he's always one step ahead of everyone else.'
'Our guard seems a good bloke,' remarked Dave, changing the subject. 'I enjoyed the meal. This place will do me until the end of the war, especially if we get the red carpet treatment at meal times. We'll put on weight here and go home well-covered and curvaceous.'
'The feldwebel might be a good fellow, but I've never seen things so slack. Every cooler I've been in so far has been a tightly run ship, but this is bloody hopeless. No solitary, meals outside, a deserter joins us - bloody hell, Germany must be falling apart. The war must be just about over, or I don't know these Huns. They’re sticklers for everything being correct and regimented.'
At about 4 p.m. they were let out again and had more coffee. The guard seemed lonely, as if everyone had forgotten about him and he needed company. However, the deserter was soon knocking on the door and demanding to go to the toilet, but once out just sat and talked to them.
'Welling’s was right,' thought Dave, 'Germany had gone to pot. If anyone had knocked on a cell door in the old days and demanded attention, he'd have had a bayonet up his backside and that would have stopped his gallop quick and lively. He wouldn't knock a second time.'
The conversation centred on uniforms and the deserter admired Dave's RAF tunic. Why? Dave
couldn't imagine, for it was filthy, ragged, and looked the worse for wear. However, he kept on about
it, and it became quite embarrassing when he asked if he could try it on. Dave felt like telling him to
get lost, but finally agreed to the temporary exchange. The deserter removed his tunic leaving it for
Dave, and then retired to his cell to try on the RAF tunic. Why he did this, God only knew? After a
few minutes he reappeared, returned the tunic, picked up his own and then went back to his cell,
closing the door. So the dressing-up parade was over and it was back to solitary.
'It's your turn for the floor, Bill,' chuckled Dave, 'and it's me for the luxury suite. Jesus, that bastard
next door's queer! Fancy wanting to try on my bloody tunic when it's just about ready for the dustbin.'
'Have you got your Parker pen?' demanded Welling’s in alarm. '1 just thought he might have nicked it when he cleared off. You never know about these bastards.'
'Bloody hell, it's gone!' cried Dave searching feverishly through the tunic's pockets. 'He's lifted it!'
'Call the feldwebel,' advised Welling’s, 'he'll only have to search the cell and the problem's solved.'
So the plan of action was adhered to, the theft reported and immediate action promised. However, at least 2 hours passed and nothing further eventuated.
'They must be making a new one,' remarked Welling’s facetiously, 'or they've written to the
manufacturers for a replacement. It's taking a long time to find one Parker pen with a gold nib.'
'We've waited long enough,' agreed Dave. 'I'll call the bloody guard and find out what's going on. I
can't afford to lose it as it's been my lucky charm.'
So the cell door was pounded on, and finally opened to reveal the smiling face of the feldwebel. To
their questions he just kept grinning and shrugging his shoulders, as if he knew nothing about it and
couldn't have cared less. Then he locked the door, leaving the two POWs to ruminate on the position.
'It looks like my pen's gone for good,' moaned Dave. 'The deserter really made a sucker out of me.
Fancy falling for a trick like that!'
'I don't think the deserter's got it,' chuckled Welling’s, 'I bet our wonderful feldwebel has it tucked away somewhere. He's no fool, and there's no flies on him. The deserter took it from you and the guard lifted it from him. So let's put it down to experience. We learn something every day. You'd better get some sleep for it'll be time to swap places before long, as this floor becomes pretty hard after a while.’
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CHAPTER XXVI
The large barn and adjoining cobbled yard were empty and devoid of American soldiers, and it was
obvious to all three of them that they had arrived too late. That morning, after spending only one day in the cooler at Bergen, Dave and Welling’s, accompanied by a German soldier, had walked about 2 kilometres to join some American POWs who were working in the neighbourhood. However, the war situation had had its effect on everybody, and it was learned that the entire contingent had been marched out about 2 hours earlier, leaving the orphans of the storm high, dry and stranded.
The guard was in a dilemma concerning his charges. He could either march them back to the cooler
and be upbraided for inefficiency, or return without them and allow the authorities to assume his
mission had been accomplished. Everything was so chaotic that it mattered little. The three of them
just leant against the barn wall, the soldier pulling hard on his cigarette and endeavouring to arrive at a decision. Then he threw the stub on to the cobbled stones, extinguished the glowing end with his boot and walked deliberately away, his charges following as if being towed. On reaching the main gate of the farm, he stopped, turned, faced both of them, shrugged his shoulders and gesticulated with his hands as if to say, what do I do now? The answer wasn't long in coming. He mockingly saluted them farewell and walked away at a brisk gait, leaving the prisoners to their own devices.
So once again they were free. However, freedom was no longer an attraction as it had too many
disadvantages. Where were they to go and what were they to do? Every man's hand would now be
turned against them and an untimely death was the last thing they wanted for the war could be over in a few weeks. They had survived this far and luck had been on their side, so they didn't want to tempt Providence too far. They walked on aimlessly having lost sense of direction and purpose. They had no food and the lethargy of the situation seemed to be typified when a lone Lancaster bomber appeared and stooged overhead at only a few hundred feet. It seemed as if the crew had nowhere to go, no target left to bomb and no enemy aircraft was left to challenge their slow, relentless progress.
An upturn in their fortunes occurred in the afternoon, when they were hailed by a Polish soldier resting at the side of the road. Courtesies were exchanged in English, the soldier possessing a rudimentary knowledge of the language, and then the tale of woe and adventure of the past weeks was related by the airmen. The Pole listened, sympathised, nodded his head several times and then, finally, invited them to come and share his accommodation at the ‘Barn'.
The 'Barn' was situated about a kilometre distant on a large farm and was, indeed, spacious. It had to be, for it housed about 200 Poles of all shapes and sizes. There were the grizzled veterans taken in the first months of the war in distant ‘39, when the German panzer divisions had bulldozed their way into Poland and swept all before them. Then there were the children, orphans of the holocaust, ranging from eight years upwards who had been taken in the Warsaw Insurrection of August, 1944. And, finally, there was a sprinkling of women. All these persons had worked on innumerable German farms as slave labour and had been shifted from pillar to post. Then they had been nearly caught in the jaws of the advancing Allied armies as they crossed the Rhine. However, their masters, the Germans had made them beat a hasty retreat into the heart of Germany - their final resting-place being the 'Barn', where they continued to slave on the local farms.
Living in the 'Barn' was not only interesting, but most relaxing for Dave and Bill. The inmates would
take themselves off to perform their agricultural chores, leaving the airmen and the younger children behind. From the youngsters Dave learnt their story. On 1st August, 1944, the Russians, who had suddenly halted their advance at the gates of Warsaw, urged the Poles to rise up and slay the German garrison. They had responded and the fighting had been waged on a grand scale for nine weeks. The Germans had put down the insurrection by bombardment from the air and artillery fire, and resistance hadn't ceased until 2nd October. All this time the Russian forces had remained passive and inactive, and no help was forthcoming. The insurgents and the civilian population were murdered or deported to concentration camps or to forced labour in the Reich. The entire population of the city was evacuated and the city almost totally gutted by fire. Thus Dave now had the answer to the riddle which had
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plagued him so long: why had the irresistible Russian advance stopped suddenly before the Polish
capital? The answer was obvious - the Polish underground movement had been allowed to be
decimated so that there would be no resistance to a future Communist takeover.
The children in the 'Barn' were parentless. They had witnessed the Warsaw holocaust and seen their
mothers, fathers and relatives slaughtered or deported elsewhere. It was one hell of a mix-up, typical of what prevailed in Europe in the spring of 1945. The children, however, were quite cheerful about it all and made a big fuss of the two 'terror-flyers', as they called them. Perhaps they saw in them something of the knight-in-shining armour who would save them from all this, instead of two
ordinary, very thin, tired prisoners of war.
Dave and Welling’s were given the daily task of collecting the rations from the nearby farmhouse,
which housed the German guards. The commandant, a captain, and his staff were accommodated in
the house, while the soldiers slept in the outhouses. The two airmen, accompanied by four or five
children, would push the clumsy, wooden wheelbarrow down the rutted lane and park in the
farmhouse's cobbled yard. Then the loaves of bread would be stacked neatly in the 'barrow', a seventh of a loaf per person and any other rations that were due, such as margarine once a week. The slave workers had to be fed or, otherwise, there would be agricultural problems and food shortages. The German soldiers, who doled out the rations, took very little interest in Dave and Bill, despite the fact that they were attired in RAF battledress -- the uniforms being so dirty and bedraggled that they fitted in snugly with the surroundings and were accepted. The Barn's inhabitants wore anything that kept them warm and on which they could lay their hands.
The Poles, Dave discovered, were a mercurial people. Their mood could change quickly and become
despondent, unhappy and melancholy. It was little wonder for their race had suffered hardship, torture and privation under successive invaders and conquerors. Further, the inmates of the 'Barn' had been battered and driven to the four corners of the German Reich during the last five years and some had been prisoners since September 1939. Nevertheless, they still regarded the Russians as the real enemies and, in conversation, would state that before the conflict was over the Germans, Poles, British and Americans would unite to drive the Communists back to the Russian steppes. It was impossible for Dave to comprehend, for he believed that Stalin's men were true blue, and what would the Western Allies do without them?
There were several large barns in the area and all housed slave workers of different nationalities. There were the French contingent, the Russians, Yugoslavs and Poles. They all seemed to dislike each other intensely, and perhaps it was symptomatic of what would happen when the war was over and the old hatreds could then be given free rein. They were all in the same pickle, but there were mutterings of evening up the score if the chance arose. Animosities ran deep and the war's end wouldn't dispel them.
With little to do, Dave and Bill relaxed during the day on their beds of hay. It was wonderful to be
able to eat regularly and rest. They felt that strength was returning to their bodies, but they would still become exhausted after some effort or exertion. Both had become acquisitive and hoarded edibles such as bread crusts, despite their age and hardness. They felt that this wasn't the end of the journey, but the prelude to another move and long walk. There was no final respite for them, only continual and endless motion from place to place.
Dave spruced himself up by having a haircut, short back and sides. He sat on one of the handles of the wheelbarrow, while a Polish prisoner of five odd years or so clipped away at his crowning glory. The right side of the hairdresser's face was badly scarred and the eye seemed to wink and stare from its illshapen socket. The Pole hated the Germans and told the story of his prisoner-of-war life to his
customer. However, Dave couldn't understand for he knew no Polish. Nevertheless, the vehemence of the man's tirade and the occasional word which Dave understood conveyed the drift of the
hairdresser's thoughts. He had received some pretty harsh treatment, especially during the early days of captivity, and the scarred side of his face had been the result of a beating from a Gestapo officer. The haircut finished, Dave arose and thanked the Pole. They shook hands, and then the hairdresser ran his fingers across his throat and mentioned the words, 'German' and 'Russian'. It was a tough old world.
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One night, the two kriegies were invited to dinner by the Yugoslavs, whose barn was situated about
300 metres away. On arrival, a very upright, grizzled, old veteran approached and warmly welcomed
them. He took them to a corner of the barn where they were introduced to five other men who were obviously regarded as leaders. The eight of them sat at a table and beer was poured and toasts to King George and Mihailovich, the particular Yugoslav leader to whom they owed allegiance, were drunk. Then it was on with the dinner - a rich, oily pork stew which made the belly lift and blow. There was a lot of laughter concerning the ingredients, from which Dave inferred that the pig had been stolen from one of the neighbouring farms and all hell would be let loose the next day when its disappearance discovered. It was a wonderful night with lots of backslapping, and oaths and with the name Mihailovich being mentioned often and loud. As the night progressed, the oily fare began to take its toll and Dave's stomach began to feel like a drum. The fatty pig was too much for a stomach which had been accustomed to a meagre bread diet for so long and Dave felt like throwing up. However, the letting off of wind from both ends helped to relieve the situation somewhat.
Finally, the dinner party came to an end and both airmen were relieved to get back to their abode
without disgracing themselves. They lay on their hay beds feeling as if their extended stomachs would burst and the rumblings and noises would never cease. It was as if an earthquake was occurring within their bodies. They hung on, determined not to be sick and so retain the nourishment the Yugoslavs had so generously given them.
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CHAPTER XXVII
The April sun of 1945 shone brightly and it was a treat to be alive. To feel the warmth on the back as it percolated its way through the clothing was luxury. Perhaps this hot flush of spring meant that the
cold, biting winds of winter had been banished for good and it would be plain sailing from here on in. The warm weather seemed to dull the hunger pangs and one wasn't continually craving for something to eat as was the case when the icy winds blew, chilling and freezing the bones.
Despite the weather, things weren't all bright and shiny. Welling’s had woken that morning feeling far from well. In fact, he had stated that he felt that this was his last round-up and he was on his way to the big ranch in the sky. All night he had been groaning, belching and farting and had made frequent trips to relieve himself. On returning, he would state that he now felt a little better, but within a quarter of an hour the status quo would reassert itself and the pains would return. The stomachs of both the airmen had become the delicate parts of the anatomy and would flare up and protest after something had been eaten. The night before, both had hoed into some of the stale, hoarded bread, liberally covered with German margarine. However, Dave's stomach had not protested to any great extent, but Bill's reaction had been violent. Dave had cheered his friend up by saying jocularly that he would ensure a slap-up funeral and invite the Yugoslavs to drink to his departure. Things weren't good, but Dave knew that Bill's health would have improved by the afternoon.
The noise of distant, sporadic gunfire had been heard several times that morning, but Dave didn't seem to think it important as he made his way leisurely towards the farmhouse that housed the guards. He wanted exercise to work off the excess of flatulence caused by the previous night's bread binge. He felt seedy and uncomfortable, and belched several times to relieve the rumblings in the stomach. He pressed on and as he neared the road the activity seemed to increase. Slave workers were running from all directions across the fields towards the road, and something untoward must be occurring. He quickened his step and, as he neared, he could see a crowd surrounding something monstrous and seemingly indestructible. It was a tank, and the two soldiers atop in khaki battledress and black berets signified that it was British. Dave was on the edge of the worshipping throng and the hubbub was so great that he couldn't make himself heard. He edged his way closer and then when the commotion died down sufficiently, yelled out: 'Eh, Tommy! What kept you so long?' There was no response. Dave repeated the greeting, and the sergeant turned and looked in his direction. Dave held his arms aloft and waved them furiously. 'What are you?' demanded the sergeant. 'British and army?'
'No, British and Royal Air Force,' came Dave's reply.
At the sergeant's bidding, the crowd cleaved a path and Dave moved towards the vehicle, being helped atop by the crowd and the sergeant's willing hands. Dave viewed the throng and felt elated, especially when they started to clap excitedly.
'What a way to gain release and freedom,' mused Dave. 'It's a fairy tale.'
Then another tank rolled its way into the village, stopping just short of the first, and so the crowd
gravitated towards the new arrival, allowing Dave and the sergeant to converse.
The tanks were part of a spearhead of the British 11th Armoured Division and were about 50
kilometres ahead of the main force. The sergeant2 had fought in the North African campaign, had
helped liberate Brussels, and was now cracker-jacking about the North German Plain - ideal terrain for armoured warfare. The flying-column had liberated many slave workers, but Dave was the first British POW that the force had encountered. The sergeant produced some bread wrapped in newspaper, and it looked so light and white after the heavy, dark, German fare that it reminded Dave of 'Lux' flakes. It was a wonderful present and reminded him of belching, Welling's stomach and his friend's likely reaction to the gift.
2 Sergeant Bill Woodward, Military Medal, British 11th Armoured Division. As a tank commander he fought in the North African campaign, and also participated in the liberation of Brussels.
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Then it was time to move out. A corporal and a soldier, who had been riding on the back of the vehicle were left behind to take over and administer the newly-acquired territory. Dave accompanied the tanks in their forward thrust to the village's perimeter, for the sergeant had stated that reports had been received that a German Tiger tank had dug itself in somewhere in the vicinity and he wanted to be sure of what was immediately ahead. The tanks stopped, and Dave shook hands with the sergeant and the crew members, wished them good luck, and then Sergeant Woodward, Military Medal, wrote his address on a piece of paper and said he hoped Dave would write some time and let him know how he was coping.
Dave returned to the farmhouse and here things were chaotic. The German guards, who had for so
long lorded it over their slave charges, were now clamouring for protection, they wished to be assured that no harm would come to them now they had surrendered. The cobbled yard resembled an arsenal for there the Germans had dumped their weapons. There was a small mountain of arms from the hand held machine gun to the Luger pistol.
The German guards, having taken refuge in the outhouses, the corporal, the soldier and Dave entered the kitchen of the farmhouse and there were served with tea and cake. The corporal was concerned for the safety of his prisoners, but Dave assured him that they were quite capable of fending for themselves. His argument being based on the fact that Bill, the slave workers and he had survived the vicissitudes of war for years, so the Germans should be able to cope.
The party over, they trooped outside and were greeted by an empty yard.
'Where the hell have all the guns gone?' asked the corporal in disbelief. 'They've bloody disappeared. The lot!'
Dave was shaken, too, but not for long. His prisoner experience should have warned him that they
were inviting trouble by leaving the pile of arms unattended. The kriegies were the most acquisitive
race in the world, whether it be stale bread or guns they had to possess them. However, guns were
dangerous and now Dave wasn't so sure that the German guards were as safe as he'd predicted.
Further, the enmity existing among the various slave nationalities could result in the settling of
grievances with bullets.
When Dave arrived at the 'Barn' Welling’s was up and quite chirpy. 'Well, Davey Boy, we're free at
bloody last,' and then in the same breath, 'Where the bloody hell have you been? They told me that you were part of the welcoming committee and had cleared out with one of the tanks.'
So Dave related what had occurred and concluded with, 'By the way, Bill, are you well enough to dine out tonight?'
'I'm well enough,' was the reply, 'but I'm not going to punish my guts with another dose of Yugoslav
soup or a bread binge. It would kill me.'
'No, none of that. It's at the farmhouse. The 'military governor' of the area, the corporal, has invited
both of us, so polish yourself up and look lively as we want to get there nice and early for pre-dinner
drinks.'
There was silence between them for a while, as if both were pondering upon the day's events and how their lot had changed. That morning they were just part of the mob and that night they were dining at 'government house'. Such were the fickleness and vagaries of fate.
'I'll tell you what!' exclaimed Welling’s suddenly. 'How about taking a few of the kids with us and
giving them a square meal? The poor bastards get very little out of life, and tonight will be a night for
them to remember.'
'You're not a bad sort of a bloke,' was Dave's reply. 'Trust you to think of them. So be it! They'll come
with us. By the way, Bill, I've got a surprise for you,' and with that he produced the newspaper parcel
from behind his back, and removed the wrapping to disclose the white, white bread.
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'Jesus, bloody white bread! Snow White! Put the lot away and we'll have it for breakfast. How lucky
are we to strike gold’?
That night the corporal, the soldier, four Polish lads, Bill and Dave sat around the kitchen hearth
warming themselves and savouring the aromas arising from the cooking food being prepared by the
frau of the house. They had confined themselves to the kitchen for they liked being near the hub of
activity, and the bustle reminded them of home. The German guards had locked themselves in the
outhouses for safety, but the captain and his lieutenant still occupied the best room. The conversation
centred on the progress of the war and day's events, but this was half-hearted for their thoughts were centred on the cooking food and when they were going to eat.
Finally, they were seated at the table and partook of the first course -- a light, vegetable soup. It tasted like nectar and everyone had second helpings, for it seemed to percolate to every part of the body, and as Bill said, 'One can feel the stuff doing one good.' Then it was potatoes, vegetables and a small piece of meat, which filled one to the gunwales. It was so satisfying that the sweet, consisting of some form of bread pudding, had to be left for stomachs had shrunken and couldn't cope with the new diet. Still, it was a meal fit for a king and would always be remembered by them all.
That night the fireworks started about 7 o'clock in the form of shots being fired. It wasn't continuous
and was difficult to describe. At times there would be a fusillade of shots, followed by a long quiet.
Then a desultory shot would ring out to break the silence. It was as-if the populace were miserly and
determined to conserve ammunition. The corporal suggested that they should go out to preserve law and order. However, the airmen likened the evening's entertainment to the American Fourth of July or the French celebration of the storming of the Bastille, and felt it unwise and unsafe to venture out of the house. One never knew if one would walk straight into a bullet, by chance or otherwise. It was much safer to stay indoors and allow the revellers their fun and games. Dave felt he had survived this far and certainly wasn't going to be buried in some unknown German village just for the sake of seeming to do the right thing.
Later in the night, the shots were accompanied by shouting and singing, as if the party were hotting up and some hidden form of alcohol had been discovered in the shape of a raided wine cellar. So it went on, and no-one left the house that night, preferring to sleep within the safety of the farmhouse than attempt the return journey to the 'Barn'.
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CHAPTER XXVIII
The morning dawned bright and sunny, and Dave and Welling’s held a summit conference with the
corporal. They were eager to be on their way to link up with the main advancing force and be really
free. The soldier counselled they should commandeer a car or truck, but neither knew how to drive. So it had to be bicycles or a long walk.
Breakfast over and farewells having been exchanged with the soldiers and the Polish lads, it was on
with the motley. The bitumen road seemed unusually quiet and devoid of traffic. Even the fields
surrounding the village were deserted, as if the slave workers had downed tools and declared a public holiday. And why not? Their masters, the German guards, were now prisoners of war themselves so the newly liberated were quite safe to lie abed and sleep off the Bacchanalian revelling of the previous night. Apparently, Dave had learned, that during the night's 'fireworks' a large group of displaced persons had raided a farmer's cellar and so it was hangovers all round.
On they cycled for several kilometres meeting no-one, until they reached a fork in the road. Here their progress was arrested by the hard metallic command 'Halt!'. In German. The suddenness of it almost made the riders fall off, and then two khaki clad soldiers emerged from behind a Bren gun carrier with rifles menacingly pointing at them. They meant business.
'Shit! You're British!' was Dave's opening remark. 'Thank God for that.'
'What the hell are you doing here?' asked one of the surprised soldiers'. 'You could have both been
shot. You stupid bastards!'
They were led to the side of the carrier where a jeep was also parked and here, in the relative safety of the corridor so formed they hastily told their story to the officer and four soldiers.
'You're lucky to have run into us,' stated the officer, 'and still have your hides intact. A number of SS
were fleeing in your direction and they'll shoot anything on sight. If they caught up with you and learnt that you were RAF, it would have been curtains. They're mad at the best of times, but in defeat they just go berserk.'
There was a hurried palaver and the officer decided that one of the soldiers should take the jeep and
drive the airmen down the road so many kilometres to a forwarding area, where about 50 soldiers were regrouping for another forward lunge.
'What happens if we meet the SS on the way?' was Dave's query to the driver.
'I'll go like bloody hell,' was the reply.
Then they were off on the last lap to freedom.
Their sojourn at the staging area was short and brief, but full of incident. Everyone was ensuring the
efficiency of their equipment. The trucks and Bren gun carriers were being serviced and refuelled;
weaponry was being cleaned and reloaded; and supplies were being transferred from the trucks to the carriers. There existed a sense of purpose, energy and direction which forcibly impinged itself on
Dave's consciousness. Perhaps it contrasted so sharply with the purposeless existence and monotony of the life that Dave had savoured during the last eighteen months or so. However, his whole being seemed to respond to the new conditions as if they were the necessary stimulus to living and progression.
There was humour, too, in this far-flung outpost of the Allied empire. The sprinkling of German
civilians around was being searched for weapons, but at the back of a large shed, concealed from
prying eyes, another kind of search was in progress. A corporal had five males lined up, and as it
became their turn to be scrutinised each would drop his trousers. Dave thought that this was taking
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things a little too far and laughingly enquired what the soldier expected to discover by these tactics,
surely not a revolver?
'The cunning bastards!' replied the corporal. 'They often pin their wristwatches to their shirt tails to
keep them warm and comfy and safe from clutching fingers. But the Hun's not going to fool me. I'm
up to his tricks.'
Then it was into a truck and back to Celle, the most forward town in that sector that the Allied armies had overrun and consolidated. The driver informed the airmen that the place was teeming with displaced persons. He described it as similar to the League of Nations, no-one understanding the other person, each doing his own thing and a real melting-pot. The schloss or castle in Celle was where everyone was fed by the Allies, and recommended that this was where they should go.
There were priorities though. Dave felt a bath was a must, and so the two entered a very large house. The place was beautifully appointed, the carpets being luxurious, exuding a warmth and comfort which had been lacking in their lives for so long. However, a deathly hush pervaded the whole atmosphere and was only disturbed by the slight creaking of the stairs as they ascended.
The bathroom was reached and there ensued a difference of opinion about who should have first use, but this was resolved when Welling’s discovered another bathroom at the end of the corridor.
Dave wallowed in the soapy water which caressed his body and soothed his jangled nerves. It was the first bath he had had since being shot down and so he savoured the luxury of it all. Admittedly, the water wasn't really hot, but who cared as long as one could soak, and soak, and soak? Then to encase oneself in clean, fluffy towels and feel the blood coursing in the veins was a delight which had almost been forgotten.
As he left the bathroom clad in dishevelled gear, he felt miserable. His clean, new body was still in
contact with the dirty grimy past and he resolved to start afresh by entering a bedroom and helping
himself to a change of clothing. Rummaging through the wardrobe, he found everything too large for
his skinny frame.
'Jesus!' he exclaimed. 'The bloke who owns these clothes must be a big bastard. I suppose he's on the Russian front or somewhere.'
However, beggars couldn't be choosers, and he attired himself as best he could. All the shoes were far too large, and as he preened himself in the mirror he could not help but notice the incongruity between his smart get-up and the dirty, mud stained boots he had been forced to retain.
'Shit! You look bloody smart, Dave,' was Bill's opening remark, as he burst into the room. 'Bloody
good idea of yours togging yourself up. I'll have a scrounge around, too, and see what I can come up
with. You're thin, Davey Boy. You're like a walking skeleton.'
'People in glasshouses shouldn't throw stones,' was Dave's retort.
They left the house wondering where the inhabitants had gone, and then made their way towards the schloss which was easily discernible by its massive structure. This was their haven and it literally
teemed with displaced persons from all over Europe. The advancing Allies had earmarked the castle as temporary accommodation for the liberated, and the 'inn' was bursting at the seams with the large inflow of 'guests'.
'Talk about the League of Nations and the tower of Babel,' commented Welling’s, 'one needs an
interpreter to understand all the cackle that's going on.'
'I'm not worried about conversation,' came Dave's reply, ‘It's my stomach I want to fill.'
It was after midday and a field kitchen had been set up in the middle of the grounds where army
personnel, cafeteria style, were feeding the long, never-ending queue. One shuffled along at a snail's
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pace until arriving at the Mecca. Then one grabbed two plates. The larger of the two, the dinner plate, was piled high as one moved along. Firstly, it was potatoes, then a dollop of swede, followed by carrots, and then the whole was smothered with a thick, meaty gravy, which spilled over on the hands. Balancing the laden plate and ensuring that the gravy didn't run away, the other plate was extended for treatment, receiving a generous slab of some form of bread pudding, followed by a liberal pouring of hot, yellow custard.
Then it was to a secluded spot, and seated on a rug they feasted on the succulent, gluey contents,
savouring each mouthful as if it were their last. Then it was the dessert, but the heavy, pudding like
substance, ladened with custard, was too much for shrunken stomachs and they were both forced to
halt long before the plates had been cleared. They not only felt sated but drowsy and like snakes
gorged with prey, lay on their backs and went off to sleep.
The rest was of short duration for within half an hour they were awake and ready to go. They
recuperated easily, a meal and a catnap and energy was restored. The dirty plates were returned to the kitchen, and then they reported to an area clearly marked by the sign: 'British POWs.' An officer took particulars, while an Airborne sergeant resplendent in uniform and red beret stood idly by. They were instructed to eat and sleep in the castle and report again the next day at noon. The interview over, they left and were followed by sergeant.
'You chaps don't need to eat and sleep here,' he called. 'Why don't you come with me and live well?
You deserve something better.'
So the invitation was accepted, and off the three went.
The commandeered premises were spacious, housing about a dozen Red Devils, whose tough, rugged, healthy appearance exuded bonhomie and comradeship. It was little wonder that they were on top of the world for their division, the Sixth Airborne, had made the successful drop on the east bank of the Rhine and secured Montgomery's crossing at Wesel. They felt that the war was nearing its end and had only one more mission to complete, the crossing of the Elbe, for which they were regrouping. The hospitality was lavish with cigarettes galore and plenty of everything—a far cry from the prisoners' yesterdays.
'What about us all going for a swim?' someone suggested, and then laughingly added, 'we'll be
acclimatised then if we miscue and finish up in the Elbe.'
'Christ!' someone exclaimed. 'I know it's a sunny day, but remember it's still only mid-April. It'll be
bloody chilly.'
So it was decided everyone was going swimming, including the airmen, and they'd be off very shortly
before the heat went out of the sun.
Dave felt tired and lay on a bed. A five minutes' rest he felt would restore him and so be ready for the excursion. He closed his eyes.
It was after 10 the next morning when he awoke.
'Nice to see you awake, Sleeping Beauty!' remarked one of the Airborne boys humorously. 'You've
been asleep about 20 hours—missed the swim and last night's entertainment.'
'You didn't miss much with the swim,' volunteered Welling’s, 'it was bloody cold—your balls froze.
Last night was terrific though, we went out and really enjoyed ourselves.'
'Yes, the entertainment went on when we got back here, too,' continued a sergeant. 'We had a game of indoor rugger, and someone was tackled and brought down right on top of you. You didn't budge.
Must have been really buggered.
'I didn't feel anything, ' muttered Dave. 'I suppose I really needed the sleep.
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CHAPTER XXIX
At 20 minutes past noon Dave and Welling’s reported to the area in the schloss marked, 'British
POWs', and were promptly reprimanded by the officer-in-charge.
'When I tell you to report at noon, I mean twelve o'clock and not 20 minutes later,' he raved. 'You're
back in the service now good and proper, so pull your finger out! No more dragging the chain and
bouncing the ball around!'
Then he addressed the other five POWs present. 'I'll be back in a few minutes,' and, looking
menacingly at the latecomers, continued, 'Wait here, and no clearing off!'
He then left.
'Officious bastard!' exclaimed one of the men. 'I bet that's all he's done throughout the war is give
orders. His life has been full of 'Yes, sir!', 'No, sir!', 'Three bags full, sir.'’
'He ought to have had a spell in the lager,' stated Welling’s, 'that would have knocked the shit out of
him.'
Within 10 minutes the officer returned with a truck and the seven newly-liberated were bundled
aboard and taken to the airfield where they were placed aboard a Douglas transport. The take-off was quite smooth, but Dave felt the butterflies in the stomach as the plane lunged forward gathering height and momentum. It was the first time he had been airborne since that fatal night and the apprehension was understandable.
'How you're feeling, Davey Boy?' yelled Welling’s above the roar of the engines. 'Remember the last
time?'
'I feel bloody wonderful,' lied Dave, 'It's a piece of cake.'
The plane landed at Brussels, and the seven of them were whisked away by truck to a sort of hostel
where they were plied with Red Cross goodies, such as a safety razor and blades, a shaving brush and fresh underwear. Thus they were able to bath, shave and improve the appearance, then indulge in the luxury of a clean vest and underpants. Re-vitalized, they were ready for a night out on the town. However, the essential ingredient, money, was lacking so they had to settle on a Service canteen.
The night wasn't particularly successful because they felt their German civilian clothes made them the object of attention and comment. Eyes were cast in their direction by the uniformed hordes frequenting the place and the obvious questions that were never asked: what the hell were civilians doing in a place like this, and who let them in et cetera? However, the night passed without incident.
The next day they were flown to England, and, on disembarking, Dave turned to Welling’s and stated: 'Well the experience we've had will stand us in good stead in the future.'
'I don't mind the experience now that it's over,' replied Welling’s, 'but Jesus I wouldn't want to go
through it all again.’ 'Never mind!' responded Dave. 'Think of the yarns you'll be able to tell everyone. You'll be the life and soul of the party.'
'Bullshit!' was Welling’s' reply. 'No-one will want to listen and, if they do, they'll think you're a bloody, big line-shooter.'
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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One man in his time
Description
An account of the resource
Writes of his last operation in a Halifax when his aircraft was shot down and exploded killing all the other members of the crew. Describes journey to camp and being in Frankfurt while it is under bombing attack. Continues with description of life as a prisoner of war in East Prussia and Poland and the people he meets. Writes of forced march back to Germany, escape and recapture near Belsen before linking up with British forces and repatriation. At the beginning are two photographs; first of an airborne Halifax with clouds below, captioned 'Handley-Page Halifax B MkII (RAF*)' . Second a half length portrait of an airman wearing battledress with navigator brevet. Captioned 'Author: Warrant Officer David Griffin (1945)'. On next page are two maps of UK and Northern Europe, captioned 'Referenced Locations' and 'Referenced locations as located within 2017 international borders'.
Creator
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David A J Griffin
Format
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102 page printed pages
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
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BGriffinDAJGriffinDAJv1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
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Netherlands
Lithuania
Lithuania--Šilutė
Belgium
Belgium--Brussels
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Poland
Germany
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Celle
Temporal Coverage
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1943-09-27
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
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David Bloomfield
aircrew
animal
anti-Semitism
bomb aimer
bombing
crash
displaced person
Dulag Luft
fear
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Holocaust
killed in action
love and romance
military living conditions
missing in action
prisoner of war
sanitation
shot down
sport
Stalag Luft 6
the long march
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1135/11674/PSnookT1801.2.jpg
137dd66e818f1d402186e607d2a8fd6b
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1135/11674/ASnookT180215.1.mp3
9ff814d0899d0cb6cb145b2b6d6a72b7
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Snook, Tony
Tony Snook
T Snook
Description
An account of the resource
Four items. An oral history interview with Tony Snook (b. 1925, 1813151 Royal Air Force) as well as his service release book and photographs of his crew. He flew operations as an air gunner with 115 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-02-14
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Snook, T
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
DK: Right. So, this is David Kavanagh for the International Bomber Command Centre.
TS: Yeah.
DK: Interviewing Tony Snook on the 14th of February 2018 at his home. Right. Ok. So, I’ll just put that, if I just put that there.
TS: Yes. Yes.
DK: I’ll, I’ll keep looking down to make sure it’s still, still working.
TS: Yes.
DK: Ok. So can I first of all ask you what were you doing before you joined the RAF?
TS: School.
DK: Ah.
TS: Well I left school. I was at Maidstone Grammar School. I left school in 1942.
DK: Right.
TS: When I, that was sixteen and, no. Seventeen. That’s right. And you were allowed to join the Air Force for aircrew at seventeen, at eight, seventeen and a quarter and then they kept you waiting for a year until eighteen. Then they called you up to Regent’s Park and you was, but you were actually sworn in.
DK: Right.
TS: And you got a number there. That, in, in 1942. That’s right. And then I went in in 1943.
DK: Right. Was, was the Air Force something you chose then? Is it something you wanted to do as opposed to —
TS: Well, I want to because I joined the, I went, the ATC. The school had an ATC squadron and I rose up and became a sergeant in the ATC and we used to go to camps. To West Malling just outside Maidstone which was a night fighter station which had Beaufighters and Defiants and Havocs. That was Douglas Boston with a searchlight in the nose.
DK: Yeah.
TS: Which used to illuminate supposedly and the Defiants flew alongside and shot it down. It didn’t often happen unfortunately. But anyway we used to go there and, that’s right 1940 I was fifteen and we were there and we were sent out to sweep up around the dispersals and things like that, you know. Just to, make do with us really. And the corporal, the engine, the engine fitter said, ‘Have you ever flown?’ I said, ‘I’m fifteen years old. How could I fly during the war?’ He said, ‘We’ll see what we can do.’ So anyway, the pilot came along to the Beaufighter. He was a flying officer then and he said, ‘Do you want a trip lad?’ So I said, ‘I’d love one.’ So he took me up in this Beaufighter. I stood in the well behind the pilot holding on to his seat. Well, it was still wartime. How would, how would health and environment think about that nowadays? [laughs]
DK: No health and safety.
TS: Yes. Anyway, that, but that was that but you know I was interested in aeroplanes anyway naturally. But that was wonderful I thought.
DK: So what did you think of your first flight then when you were —
TS: Wonderful.
DK: Yeah.
TS: Yeah. Because I could see. Just there was the chap’s head. And he was a Flight Officer Widdows who died about twelve years ago.
DK: Right.
TS: His, because I look at the Telegraph every day to see if I’m in it [laughs] But he was in there. He lived ‘til a hundred as an air commodore.
DK: Oh right.
TS: And his wife was about five years ago she lived till a hundred and she died about five years. So both of them lived ‘til a hundred.
DK: A hundred. Yeah and that was at —
TS: And —
DK: Sorry. Go on.
TS: Well, I mean then I was in. Because after that, we had actually what I first joined at the school was what they called the OTC. Officer Training Corps which was Army naturally.
DK: Right.
TS: And then I transferred to the ATC when it started. And so therefore at seventeen and a quarter I went into the Recruiting Office and applied to join for aircrew and they said alright. We went up to the house. Air Ministry house in London.
DK: Right.
TS: What was it called?
DK: Is it Ad Astra house is it?
TS: Ad Astra house.
DK: Ad Astra House. Yeah. Yeah.
TS: Something like that.
DK: Yeah.
TS: And you were given a medical and a small education test. And then you were sworn in and given a number. And you also were given a little silver badge which you put in the lapel of your jacket to say that, because you know people used to think oh, he looks a hairy, he’s not in the Service. We used to wear this little badge.
DK: Oh right.
TS: A little silver badge.
DK: Is that to stop people perhaps turning on you then and —
TS: Well, it might be. I mean it didn’t often happen —
DK: No.
TS: Very often.
DK: No.
TS: I mean surely they could see that the lad was probably not old enough to be in the air anyway. And I went in finally in November 1943.
DK: Right.
TS: Yes.
DK: So where was your first posting to then? In November 1943.
TS: ITW at Newquay.
DK: Right.
TS: Because I went in as PNB.
DK: Right.
TS: And I passed through ITW. Then they sent us to Theale near Reading.
DK: So that’s the PNB. Pilot, navigator —
TS: Bomber.
DK: Bomb aimer.
TS: That’s right. Yes. Yes.
DK: For the recording.
TS: And they sent us to Theale, outside Reading which was an EFTS. Elementary Flying Training School.
DK: Right.
TS: Which had Tiger Moths. And we did twelve hours there and I soloed after seven and a half and then completed the twelve. And then they had, this was just after the invasion, they didn’t lose as many as they expected. And there were rumours going around that so many people were [pause] if you were chosen as a pilot or that you wouldn’t. You know you probably might be made redundant. And this did happen a lot. The Air Force weren’t very kind at times, you know.
DK: No. No.
TS: No. Because naturally if we were PNB most of us that’s what we wanted to be. A pilot.
DK: Yeah.
TS: So anyway they thought I’d make a better air gunner [laughs]
DK: Was that a reflection on how you flew then or —
TS: No, because I got a good report from my instructor.
DK: Oh right.
TS: About flying. I mean after I soloed in seven and a half hours.
DK: Right.
TS: Which wasn’t bad.
DK: So it’s literally because they thought they wouldn’t need so many pilots then.
TS: Well, going forward when we went to Heavy Con Unit, flew Lancasters then we obtained an engineer.
DK: Right.
TS: And who was it? A pilot who they didn’t want. And you’ll see it on his, on the photo there.
DK: Yeah. Yeah. Oh right.
TS: With his pilot’s wings. And he was the engineer. They sent them to St Athans and gave them an engineer’s course. And there were lots of them so really I suppose that I was lucky because I kept flying because I met people who were with, started with me earlier on and they were doing one might say menial jobs about. And then I went to, they sent me to Stormy Down in South Wales to start the gunnery course. We didn’t used to fly from Stormy Down. We flew from an aerodrome nearer to Cardiff. Right on the coast. Which is now Cardiff International Airport I think and I can’t remember the name of it. It belonged [pause] I saw it began with P. But anyway we flew in Ansons there with the gunnery exercises and then after we’d done that we went back to Stormy Down and took the last exams and passed out and given our little brevets which that’s one there.
DK: Yeah. For the air gunner.
TS: Yes.
DK: Yeah. So, was ,was the air gunnery something you took to quite well then?
TS: Oh yeah. I’m a very, I suppose really I’m very, I was service minded. I wish I’d stayed in. But nothing mattered to me. I did what, you know.
DK: Yeah.
TS: It was what I liked so —
DK: So what sort of targets did you used to have to shoot at?
TS: Drogues behind the mainly Miles oh [pause] Miles, anyway. It was —
DK: Miles Masters was it?
TS: Masters. Something. Yes. Yes.
DK: So, they’re pulling a drogue and you’re —
TS: That’s right. Yes.
DK: Shooting at that.
TS: And the, to differentiate which gunner had, had got hits on the target the actual project, the bullet itself was painted with a soft paint and that used to make a mark on the drogue.
DK: Right.
TS: When it went through.
DK: Oh right.
TS: So anyway, did that and then after that I was, and one or two other off from Stormy Down went to Upper Heyford. North of Oxford.
DK: Yeah.
TS: Which was an old permanent station. A lovely place it was. All brick built and a lovely place. But we didn’t fly from there because they were laying, they were putting runways down. I think they were getting, the Americans had it afterwards. Maybe you remember that F 111s —
DK: Yes.
TS: Used to fly from Upper Heyford.
DK: Yes. Yeah.
TS: Anyway, we went to Upper Heyford and we, it was a lovely place as I say. And on the second day there, we had a sort of induction on the first day we were all put in to a big room. So many pilots, so many engineers, so, not, sorry not engineers, so many navigators, bomb aimers, and wireless op and two gunners and they said, ‘We’ll be back in an hour. Sort yourself out in crews and make sure you like him because you’ve got to fly with him.’ And that’s what they told us. So in an hour’s time all the people got together. I mean another gunner that I said, ‘Come on, Ron. Let’s join up together.’ And who do we look? ‘He looks alright.’ So we went over with Johnny Rimer, an Australian. So, that’s how we crewed up.
DK: Do you think, do you think that worked well?
TS: Yes.
DK: Because you’re, it was a bit unusual. The military normally you’re told here, there and there.
TS: That’s right.
DK: But with this —
TS: Yes.
DK: You had to sort yourselves out. It was very unusual.
TS: It was unique. No doubt.
DK: Yeah.
TS: It’s never happened since. You don’t get anything in the service which you sort of pal up with somebody and say maybe, I don’t know, a tank. It might be with a tank. It might be. I don’t know.
DK: Yeah.
TS: But that’s how they used to do it and it worked. Because I can never remember anybody saying, ‘Oh, you know, I don’t like you. I’m going to get out,’ because it didn’t happen. Everybody stayed the same. Yes.
DK: And is that where you found your pilot then was it?
TS: That’s right. Yes.
DK: And what was your pilot’s name?
TS: Johnny Rimer. John Rimer.
DK: John Rimer.
TS: An Australian.
DK: Right.
TS: From [pause] well, near Melbourne Australia. In fact we used to send, write and send Christmas cards right up ‘til the time he died which was two years ago.
DK: Oh right.
TS: Yeah.
DK: So there, can you remember the other crew you met up with there? Would have been your navigator?
TS: Yes. George, the navigator.
DK: George, the navigator.
TS: George, like, and he’s there anyway.
DK: Right.
TS: That’s George I think. There.
DK: Right.
TS: And he came from Warrington. But I can’t remember. It’s funny really I can’t remember his surname. I remember George.
DK: Yeah.
TS: Because that’s all it was to us. George.
DK: Yeah.
TS: And Eddie Harrison was the wireless operator.
DK: Right.
TS: Ron Stedman. Ron Stedman was the mid-upper gunner.
DK: The bomb aimer?
TS: The bomb aimer. The bomb aimer. Swettenham. Len Swettenham from London. The East End of London.
DK: Right.
TS: And he went out to Australia after the war and Johnny Rimer sponsored him.
DK: Oh right.
TS: He went out there. And that was the crew. And I’m the only one left of them. Everybody else has gone.
DK: So your flight engineer then. He came along later.
TS: Later. At Heavy Con Unit. Yes.
DK: Right.
TS: And he was the only one that was put into the crew.
DK: Yeah.
TS: He, you know, he didn’t say, look around and say, ‘I want to join them.’
DK: And can you remember his name?
TS: Yes [pause] Dick Tinsley. And they’re big farmers at Spalding.
DK: I’ve met him.
TS: Dick. Yes.
DK: Yeah.
TS: As a matter of fact I couldn’t remember his surname. He, funnily enough he was a bit the odd man out. He wasn’t very much of a beer drinker which we all were.
DK: Yeah.
TS: And I was in, I was invited to East Kirkby.
DK: Yeah.
TS: To the Lancaster.
DK: Yeah.
TS: In Lincolnshire. And my friend at the Golf Club is one of the, I think he’s one of the trustees. Paul [Mutitt]
DK: Oh right.
TS: He leant me a magazine and in the magazine was a reunion in Holland for the Manna trips.
DK: Right.
TS: And there was Dick Tinsley with a frame, you know.
DK: Yeah. Yeah.
TS: To help walking. So obviously he wasn’t very good on his pins. But whether he’s still there or not I don’t know.
DK: Well, I saw him. I interviewed him for the IBCC on the 4th of June 2015. So he was still alive then.
TS: Yes. 2015 was when this photo was taken.
DK: Oh, ok.
TS: When they all did the trip to Holland.
DK: Because rather oddly I actually live nearby. I’ve since moved but I lived just up the road from where he was.
TS: Did you really?
DK: And I got to know his son. Also Richard Tinsley. And they, they knew the lady that my wife and I were renting a house off at the time.
TS: Oh yes. Yeah.
DK: So I went to see Dick Tinsley the senior and interviewed him then. And as I say it was 115 Squadron.
TS: Squadron. Yeah.
DK: And he said then he was a pilot, co-pilot. So he trained as a pilot.
TS: Yes.
DK: But as you say ended up as a flight engineer.
TS: They were never regarded as co-pilots.
DK: Yeah. Flight engineers.
TS: They were flight engineers.
DK: Yeah. That’s strange. Well, I think, I’m pretty sure he’s still alive.
TS: Is he?
DK: I haven’t heard anything to the contrary.
TS: No. No.
DK: Would you like me to find out or —
TS: Well, it’s a long time ago.
DK: Yeah. Well. I’ll ask anyway.
TS: Yeah. Yeah. Yes.
DK: I’ll let you know.
TS: No. I’d be interested to know if he’s still alive.
DK: Yeah. I was still in touch with his son just a few months ago.
TS: Were you?
DK: I’ll speak to his son.
TS: Yes.
DK: Yeah.
TS: Well if you take my phone number you can just give me a ring sometimes.
DK: Yeah. Sure. Yeah.
TS: And tell me.
DK: Yeah.
TS: Anyway, where did we get to? Heavy Con Unit didn’t we?
DK: Yeah. Yeah.
TS: That’s right.
DK: And do you remember where the Heavy Conversion Unit was?
TS: Yes. Langar, outside Nottingham. And as a matter of fact there was a factory next door to the airfield which reconditioned Lancs which had been damaged and they brought them there and they repaired them. And we did the course on heavy, on to Lancasters there. And that included which we didn’t know, I mean from Upper Heyford we were always flying in Wellingtons. Hercules engine Wellingtons which I forget now which mark they were but anyway Wellingtons have Merlins and we always had Hercules Wellingtons. And of course we did lots of cross countries but nothing outside. When we got to Heavy Con Unit we had to fly longer cross country’s down into the middle of France and back. And on two of them we had engine fires.
DK: Right.
TS: On the port outer. We didn’t, I mean, it was dangerous yes but I mean the graviner put it out straightaway and we just flew the rest of the trip on three engines and feathered the props and —
DK: So, what, what did comparing the two what was it like flying in a Wellington? What were they like as aircraft?
TS: Well, it was flying. On the other hand of course in Wellingtons there was only one turret so one of us used to go in the turret and one of us used to sit by the pilot because it had a, although the pilot’s sitting on the left hand side always and there was a seat. Some of them even had dual control. They used to sit there for the cross country. And another thing you used to go down and look through the astrodome and things like that.
DK: Right.
TS: Yes. Yes.
DK: So you got to the Heavy Conversion Unit then.
TS: Yes.
DK: Was that the first time you saw the Lancaster?
TS: Yes. Yes, it was.
DK: And what was your impressions when you saw that?
TS: Well, we reckoned it was a wonderful aeroplane anyway [laughs] and we, we had an instructor who, who was a bit wild and he used to throw it about. When he did a corkscrew you knew you were in a corkscrew. Yes. You know, he was the type of chap who if anything was in the fuselage through said, through you know you’d get parachutes coming up off the ground and going down like that and then flopping down. He was, he certainly used to throw it about. No doubt about it. But they put up with it.
DK: Yeah. Can you remember his name at all?
TS: No. He was, I honestly can’t remember his name.
DK: So the —
TS: Because after John, after John was passed out by him which wasn’t very long anyway we used to fly without an instructor after that on, you know cross countries, practice bombing trips with little twenty pound bombs and, but as I say these two cross countries from Langar down into mid-France and back again.
DK: Right. And you mentioned the corkscrew manoeuvre.
TS: Yes.
DK: What was that in aid of then?
TS: Well, you see you were sitting, sitting in the turret and you, ‘Skipper, enemy port quarter, five hundred yards.’ And you’d inform the skipper about it and then you would say, ‘He’d turn, ‘Prepare to corkscrew port.’ And then as he started to turn on his, the skipper would put, because you always turned into the attack. Turned in. Dived down. Turned to starboard. Back up. Over the top. Down and like that. That was a corkscrew.
DK: So it —
TS: And the rear gunner was expected to keep up a dialogue all the time that the attack was happening.
DK: Right. So, what, how would you describe your role as a rear gunner then? You’re sitting there and what is it you’re supposed to be doing for your —
TS: Well, you’re searching all the time. I mean not when, not when we were going to Italy bringing troops home. Things like that. But if you were anywhere near where there may be fighters you were searching. Going from port to starboard, port to starboard, port to starboard all the time. And looking up.
DK: So —
TS: It was better for you to look down in the main because —
DK: Yeah.
TS: The mid-upper looked up of course.
DK: Right. So you had to work as a team with the mid-upper gunner then.
TS: Yes. Yes. He didn’t, he would say anything if it was important but your dialogue was with the skipper.
DK: Right. So from the Heavy Conversion Unit then, you’ve then gone to 115 Squadron.
TS: That’s right. Witchford. Yes.
DK: At Witchford.
TS: Yes.
DK: So that was your first posting then.
TS: That was the posting. It was around about February 1945 anyway.
DK: Right.
TS: Yes. Yes.
DK: And, and you mentioned before, just before we put the tape on, the recorder on, the type of Lancasters they had there.
TS: I think they were Mark 1s when we first went there but they were gradually replacing them with Mark 3s.
DK: Right.
TS: They had had, in fact in my Lancaster, I’ve got a big book on the Lancaster and it does show 115 with Hercules. They are Mark 2s.
DK: Right.
TS: But funnily enough I mean the Hercules was a wonderful engine but the Lanc preferred Merlins.
DK: Merlins. Yeah.
TS: So they were reequipping them with Packard Merlins and paddle blades, you know.
DK: So by the time you got there then all the Mark 2 Lancasters had gone had they?
TS: Gone. That’s right. Yes. Yes.
DK: So how many operations did you then fly with 115 squadron?
TS: We flew five.
DK: Right.
TS: Three Manna trips. And there were two that won’t be recorded anywhere which I did.
DK: Right.
TS: And they won’t find anything about them.
DK: Right.
TS: No.
DK: So where were they to then?
TS: Well, they were just over somewhere.
DK: Oh ok. So that wasn’t with your crew then.
TS: No.
DK: No. Ok. So you did five altogether then.
TS: That’s right. Yes. Yes. Two nights. They were both to Kiel. And one to an oil refinery in the Ruhr. These were daylights. And one to, daylight to Bad Odesloe in North Germany and and the island in the North Sea [pause]
DK: Oh, Heligoland.
TS: Heligoland that’s right.
DK: Yeah.
TS: That was the last one.
DK: Right.
TS: Yes. Yeah. And coming back from it was a bit, it wasn’t amusing because the ground crew didn’t like it. Coming back from Bad Odesloe we used to fly in loose vics and after you know you got away gradually they broke up and we were formating with one. And just crossing the Dutch coast near Sylt and bang, bang, bang, bang three anti-aircraft burst right on our nose. A terrific clang and I said to the skipper, ‘I think we’ve been hit.’ Anyway, nothing seemed to be the matter but when we got down it had gone through the elsan [laughs] And the poor ground crew had to, I mean it hadn’t been emptied before the ground crew they had to clear this up. They weren’t pleased.
DK: Oh dear. So was that the only time you were hit by gunfire then or anti-aircraft fire?
TS: I think it was. That was the only time. I didn’t know of another time. No. No. No.
DK: No. You never saw any German fighters or anything like that.
TS: I did see one over Kiel.
DK: Right.
TS: And it was one of these. I think they used to call them lone wolfs. A FW190. And he was well above us and he dived down but some, he just went off. Kept going down. I could see him against the, where the, you know where the fires were down below. Going down. He just went down. It was an FW190 and I think they called them lone wolf.
DK: So the operations then, the bombing operations were all in daylight.
TS: No. The Kiels were night time.
DK: Oh right. Ok. Ok.
TS: Both. Yes.
DK: Right.
TS: Yeah. It was when the pocket battleship was hit by somebody from 115 Squadron actually.
DK: And was it your crew?
TS: And did a lot of damage to it.
DK: Was that your crew by any chance?
TS: No. It wasn’t. No.
DK: Oh [laughs]
TS: I remember very much the pilot who whose aircraft did do it and he was one might say, a bit of an uncouth sod [laughs] He used to eat peas off a knife. But he was a skipper and —
DK: Yeah.
TS: And I think it was his crew that did it. Yes.
DK: Right. So you mentioned earlier just before we put the recording on your pilot then went back to Australia.
TS: That’s right. Yes.
DK: So what happened to the rest of the crew then?
TS: Well, the mid-upper came with me to another crew and the rest just disappeared.
DK: Right.
TS: And I never heard. The only thing I did hear, Len Swettenhan, the bomb aimer he went on. He was taken off flying altogether and he told me that he went out to Singapore and he did quite well for himself because he was got put in charge of a stores down there [laughs] And I think he did quite well out of it. The pilot. Naturally Johnny went back and became a doctor in Australia.
DK: Right.
TS: Dick Tinsley, I’ve no idea what he did. He just disappeared.
DK: Yeah. I can tell you what he did.
TS: Well, he —
DK: He took up with farming so —
TS: Went to farming.
DK: Farming yes when I saw.
TS: Well, they were. When you’re going through you often see Tinsleys.
DK: Yeah.
TS: On those things in the field.
DK: When I saw him in the fields at the back they had about four hundred head of sheep.
TS: Oh really.
DK: So it was the sheep farming he were in to.
TS: Yes.
DK: And he did mention that post-war he just took up with the farm again.
TS: That’s right.
DK: That’s been passed on to his son now.
TS: That’s right. Yes. Yeah. Of course, they were, they were a big farmers weren’t they?
DK: Yeah. Yeah.
TS: And who else? Oh Eddie Harrison. He was just given menial jobs until he was demobbed. And then when he came from Liverpool. He went back to Liverpool and worked for the Liverpool Harbour Board. The Mersey Harbour Board. And funnily enough I didn’t hear ‘til later on through the Squadron Comrades letter that he’d moved to Oulton Broad. So I phoned him up and arranged to meet him at the pub at Gillingham. And we met there and had a drink and then he went off. And I’d gone away on holiday. When I came back I phoned up to make a [pause] and he’d died while I was away.
DK: Oh. That’s a shame.
TS: George. George was, I don’t, he was a lovely fella. A chap I always admired. Navigators. They used to sit at that desk with a chart and take us out there and back again not seeing anything. And really they were wonderful. How they could goodness only knows. They really were wonderful. George [pause] nobody, I asked the rest of the, you know the crew that like Johnny and Len Swettenham and Eddie if, because Eddie, George lived at Warrington which wasn’t very far from Liverpool. But he’d had nothing to do with him. No. No. He just disappeared. So that’s, and of course Ron Stedman, the mid-upper gunner, the last of the crew I’ll tell you in a minute. But he is not here anyway. But that was the, how the crew broke up.
DK: Yeah.
TS: And we went with a Flight Lieutenant Cantrell.
DK: And to which squadron did you go to after that?
TS: Oh, it was still 115.
DK: Oh, still in 115.
TS: Yes.
DK: Oh right. Ok.
TS: Yes.
DK: If I could just take you back a little bit you mentioned that you did three Manna.
TS: Manna trips.
DK: Manna trips.
TS: That’s right. Yes.
DK: So how did you feel about that? Were you —
TS: Wonderful. Wonderful. And one of the things that gave me great satisfaction, more than dropping bombs probably was when we were flying about five hundred feet and I looked down. There was an old gentleman with a black, a black Homburg walking along the dyke and he took his hat off and went like that. And I thought that’s wonderful. And funnily enough the other thing too with regard to Mannas that when we, when I went back to live in Kent at Bearsted there was a chap came and lived in the same road who’d been on the, he’d been in the army in Holland and he’d married a Dutch girl. And she was one of the people around Amsterdam Racecourse waiting for this food to be dropped. And you could see them all around and German soldiers all the way around.
DK: Yeah.
TS: Because [pause] I forget now where it is though I have read it that we started those Manna trips and we had no, no permission from Germany. They, although they’d been approached about it they hadn’t given anything. And I believe, I understand that another thing I’ve read is that because how it happened was that Prince Bernhard and Queen Julianna were living in London and they, through the Underground they learned how bad the Dutch were for food because the Germans had flooded their fields with salt water and things like that. And they approached Winston Churchill to ask if he could do anything. And that’s when he started. He gave the Air Force the order to do these Manna trips. And the Americans did it as well.
DK: Yeah. Yeah.
TS: And in fact there was a major major major something. He was a south African on the squadron who used to wear the South African khaki uniform and he was one of the people that helped to develop these panniers which they put in the bomb bays and filled with food.
DK: Right.
TS: And this lady, when she learned that I was one of them she was overjoyed.
DK: So you could —
TS: Yes.
DK: You could see the people waving to you [unclear]
TS: Yes. Yeah. They were all standing around it.
DK: Yeah. Yeah.
TS: Because we dropped into Amsterdam Racecourse and the other one. The other big [pause] Amsterdam. What’s the other big city in the Netherlands?
DK: Rotterdam? Or —
TS: Rotterdam. That’s right.
DK: Yeah.
TS: Yes. Yes. In fact, I think Rotterdam is now the big international airport isn’t it?
DK: Yeah.
TS: But that’s where we dropped them. There. Yes.
DK: So what sort of height were you at then when you —
TS: Well, we used to fly over the Dutch coast at about five hundred feet.
DK: Right. And do you know what sort of foodstuffs you were taking?
TS: Well, potatoes. You know. Dehydrated potatoes. Things like that. And lots of tinned stuff.
DK: Yeah.
TS: Yes, all kind of things which you could drop which would, which would be you’d think you know would put up with being dropped.
DK: Yeah.
TS: And we always used to get our chocolate ration and things like that and throw them out. I used to throw them out the back [laughs]
DK: So with 115 then you’ve now moved to a different crew.
TS: Yes.
DK: And did you fly any more operations with the second crew then?
TS: No more operations. The war finished then you see.
DK: Right. Ok.
TS: Because Johnny, the war finished when Johnny was taken away.
DK: Right.
TS: It was three or four days after the war finished.
DK: Right. And I’ve got, just for the recording here I’ve got a picture of you and you crew and the Lancaster behind it. Can you came them all now? Who’s who?
TS: Yes. That’s Dick Tinsley.
DK: Dick Tinsley. Yeah.
TS: Yeah. That’s George the [pause] George the navigator. Eddie Harrison the w/op. John Rimer the skipper. Ron, now [pause] what was the bomb aimers name?
DK: Ok. So that’s the bomb aimer.
TS: Yes. And me.
DK: Oh right.
TS: And Ron Stedman the mid-upper.
DK: Ah. Yeah. And was that your Lancaster at the back there?
TS: No.
DK: No.
TS: No. I mean people say, ‘Oh, you did all those?’ ‘No. That was the Lancaster that did it not us.’ And they asked what, what we meant and there was bombs on for bombing trips.
DK: Yeah.
TS: And windmills for Manna trips.
DK: Oh right. Oh, the windmill’s a Manna trip.
TS: Yes.
DK: Oh ok. Yes. Dick, Dick Tinsley has got that photo.
TS: I don’t doubt it. Yes.
DK: [unclear]
TS: Because how it happened was when we were, when we knew Johnny was going we went down to the photographic section and got hold of a WAAF down there.
DK: Right.
TS: And we stood and took, she took that photo for us.
DK: Well, I’ll definitely speak to his son. As I say when I saw him a couple of years ago he, well as you say he was walking with a bit of difficulty but I’ll see if he’s still around.
TS: Yes.
DK: I’ll let you know.
TS: Yes. I would imagine that he must have had something to do, or you know goes over to East Kirkby to the, at times because he’s not very far away from there.
DK: No. No.
TS: But he might be so incapacitated now. I don’t know.
DK: I’ll have a word with his son.
TS: He’s probably about two years or more older than me anyway.
DK: Yeah. So the war’s come to an end then.
TS: Yes.
DK: What were your plans then? What were you going, intending to do?
TS: Well, I wasn’t intending. I wanted to stay flying. That’s all. Which we did.
DK: Right.
TS: And when the crew broke up and then of course some weeks after that they started these trips to Italy bringing troops home. We used to fly down there and bring twenty home at a time.
DK: Right.
TS: And of course there was no need for both of us to go and Ron wasn’t terribly keen so I used to go all the time. We did three of those. And I used to look after the soldiers on the way back and probably give them a cup of coffee if they had —
DK: Can you remember where you picked them up from?
TS: Yes. Bari.
DK: Right.
TS: On the east coast of Italy.
DK: Right. And how many did you have in the aircraft each time?
TS: Well, there was the, that’s right, five of us because the mid-upper never used to go. And twenty troops.
DK: Right.
TS: Yes. And we used to put the officers in the bomb bay at the front [laughs]
DK: So some of the, some of the soldiers presumably hadn’t seen England for some years.
TS: Oh, they’d been in the eighth army.
DK: Yeah.
TS: They hadn’t been home for four years or more.
DK: Yeah.
TS: Never seen. And I met one, I don’t know how I came to meet him actually but he hadn’t been home for four years and we took off from Bari in the morning and we dropped them at, we used to use two aerodromes. Either Glatton near Peterborough or Tibenham just over the other side of the 140. Tibenham there because they had customs facilities and we dropped him at Tibenham and he was home for tea.
DK: Wow.
TS: But of course, you know it took, it used to take a bit of time coming from Bari. It’s not like the jet age.
DK: Yeah.
TS: When you do it in a couple of hours. It used to take us five and a half hours or so to —
DK: So, you were going over the Alps presumably then were you?
TS: No. I’ll tell you another thing. We always flew down to Marseilles.
DK: Oh right.
TS: Straight and then across the north of Sardinia to Naples and then to Bari. And we weren’t allowed to take parachutes.
DK: Oh.
TS: Because it wouldn’t have looked very good if we’d had parachutes and the twenty troops didn’t.
DK: Didn’t. Oh, I see.
TS: And that was it. The only one who had a parachute was the skipper. And he had to sit on his of course. The first time we went down we got near Naples and of course they, well luckily there was no one within sight of us anyway although there were Lancasters behind us coming down. And we asked Johnny Cantrell, we’d like to circle around Vesuvius and have a look down the crater. And that’s what we did. We circled around, had a look down a crater and then on to Bari. And the last time that I went down there we stayed there. We went down on November the 30th 1945 and through bad weather in England they kept cancelling the trip. Day after [pause] So we got up to Christmas and we’re not going to get home for Christmas and they gave us the option of either going to a holiday. We were, by the way at that time we had flown from Bari over to Pomigliano outside Naples and that’s where we were, then we landed there. And there’s a picture in my Lancaster book. All the Lancs at Pomig’ and our aircraft is in there somewhere.
DK: Oh right.
TS: But anyway, we went there and they gave us the option of either going to Rome or a holiday resort down south of Naples. Well, we, we chose Rome. So they took us in a QL Bedford. Most uncomfortable. About five hours on the drive up to Rome and we spent three days at Christmas in Rome.
DK: Right.
TS: In a football stadium. That’s right. And they, we had a wonderful time there. A lovely Christmas dinner with an Italian tenor singing to us. And we came back on January the 3rd. And that is a bit of a sad time for me after that because when we got back, the second day after coming back the gunnery leader called me in and he said, ‘You’re going off to an instructor’s course. Gunnery instructor’s course.’ So I said, ‘Oh, alright then. Yes. And then I’ll be back.’ And he said, ‘No. You won’t be coming back.’ So I said, ‘Well, I don’t want to go then. So cancel it.’ He said, ‘You’re going and that’s all there is to it.’ So I went. I went over to Andreas on the Isle of Man first of all and I wrote to the, I wrote to the crew. Never had any reply. Then I wrote to another skipper who was a friend of Johnny’s and he told me that ten days after that they were all killed. And in, I don’t know whether it’s in that Lancaster book but in one Lancaster book I have it gave every, the registration number of every Lancaster that was built and what happened to it.
DK: Yeah. Yeah.
TS: And on February the 3rd 1946 they were out on a cross country and it blew up over Red House Farm in, in, [pause] over, near Warwick anyway.
DK: Right.
TS: Yeah. Leamington Spa.
DK: Right.
TS: Yes. And they were all killed because, and do you know the only reason I got to know this because I went home on a weeks leave around about that time and I’d taken a pair of shoes home. I used to take my shoes home and have them resoled. And the little boot mender in the village said, ‘Tony. What are you? You’re not here.’ I said, ‘Why?’ He said, ‘Well, in the paper you were one of a crew that was killed.’ And my name was in there. How it had got in there I don’t know. But anyway that’s how I found out about it.
DK: Oh dear.
TS: And I tried to find out what happened. No, no one would say. No.
DK: And that was your pilot then.
TS: The pilot.
DK: Yeah.
TS: And then strangely enough when I left Andreas and I went to the Central Gunnery School at Leconfield —
DK: Yeah.
TS: And I passed through there and went and they said, ‘Would you like to come back, Tony?’ So, I said, ‘I would like to come back here,’ because they had nice cricket facilities and rugby and it was a nice place to be. An old peacetime drome. So I went back to Andreas and they called and I went back to Leconfield.
DK: Right.
TS: As an instructor at the Central Gunnery School. And going back from leave from there one, I used to go up from Kings Cross from Kent and there used to be probably a paper train where you could go in and sleep for the night. And then they’d go off about 5 o’clock in the morning back to Hull you see. And anyway, down the cab was Bill Quinn. The wireless operator. I said, ‘Bill.’ He said, ‘I know what you’re thinking, he said, ‘Do you know what happened? I had sinus trouble that morning and they wouldn’t let me fly.’ So somebody else took his place.
DK: And rather strangely your name was down as one of the crew then.
TS: That’s right. Yes. Yes.
DK: Yeah.
TS: Yes.
DK: If, if you’ve still got the book has it got the serial number of the aircraft?
TS: Well, I don’t. No. I don’t think I, the book, this book I got with all the numbers in it I got from the Suffolk Library.
DK: Oh right. Ok.
TS: I don’t think mine has. I’ll get it out in a minute.
DK: Yeah.
TS: And just have a look at the back.
DK: You can’t remember.
TS: I don’t think it has. No. I can’t remember.
DK: No. No. You can’t.
TS: Numbers like that are so long.
DK: So it’s February.
TS: About February the 3rd it was.
DK: 1946.
TS: Yeah. It was the only Lanc that crashed around about that time.
DK: Yeah. I’ll have a look into that for you.
TS: As a matter of fact I thought that we were the last one or our, that aircraft was the last one that 115 lost. But some [pause] when I left Kent and come up to Norwich and working here and in the building next to our works a chap was interested in aeroplanes and he said, he said, ‘Tony,’ he said, ‘I saw an advert in the paper asking anybody who, about that time to get in touch.’ And I got in touch with these people and apparently whether they, because they went over to Lincolns and then to of all things Super Fortresses afterwards. And on, over North Norfolk they were they were either on an exercise affiliating with fighters and one crashed into them and that these were relatives who were asking if anybody remembered them.
DK: Right.
TS: And then as I say I went to Leconfield and I stayed there until November ’47. Then I came out. And I had a lovely time there.
DK: Just stepping back a bit. The relatives were trying to get in touch with which accident? Sorry. That was another one was it?
TS: Another one. Yes.
DK: Another one. So a plane.
TS: Yes.
DK: Did it hit a Lincoln or a Super Fortress?
TS: It collided with it.
DK: But it was —
TS: It was either a Lincoln or a Lancaster.
DK: Right.
TS: One of the two.
DK: So it’s around the same time.
TS: Around about the same time. Yes.
DK: Same time. Right. Ok.
TS: Yes. And they doing you know a big air exercise with the fighters affiliating with bombers probably intercepting them.
DK: Right.
TS: Which was very unfortunate. But it was so unfortunate when things like that happen. I mean Johnny Cantrell and his crew had done, they had done about fifteen I believe when we joined them and of course they go and do that and then they’re all killed.
DK: Oh dear.
TS: I have some ideas on it but I’m not going to —
DK: No. No
TS: Tell you.
DK: Fair enough.
TS: In there. You appreciate that.
DK: No. No. That’s fair enough. Right. So when did you actually leave the Air Force then?
TS: November ‘47
DK: Right. Ok. And what career did you go into after that?
TS: Well, I got married by the way.
DK: Oh right. Ok.
TS: In February the 10th. In fact it was our seventy first wedding anniversary last Saturday but my wife died three years ago. But that was our wedding in 1947.
DK: Right.
TS: And I had nothing to do. I mean I’d never done anything before going in the Air Force and I had some screwy idea pf another friend of mine because we lived in Kent in among fruit orchards of buying up the fruit in an orchard and that didn’t work out. So I went to work for a company called Serck, S E R C K whose headquarters was in Birmingham. And funnily enough they used to make the oil coolers for the Hercules engines.
DK: Right.
TS: They also made the oil coolers for the Concorde.
DK: Right.
TS: They developed that using fuel going through the matric to cool the oil. Which was a good idea but sadly they’ve gone now. They were sold to BTR. A load of asset strippers.
DK: Oh dear. The old story. So all these years later how do you look back on your time in the Air Force?
TS: An adventure. Yes. it was. Yes. It was. How I would have felt after doing thirty ops I don’t, I might have been nervous and one thing and another because lots of people were. I mean the great time when Bomber Command were really desecrated in a way was ’42 ’43 and up to almost the invasion in ’44. And when we went, when we went as I say we were sprogs really when we went there. And the Germans, you know they were so few, short of fuel. I mean the ones over the Ruhr. I did see some. This was in daylight but there were so many Spits around us and one thing and another that none came near us. But, whether, whether I would have felt different but altogether it was a great adventure. There’s no doubt about that.
DK: Ok. Ok that’s great.
TS: Yeah.
DK: Let’s stop it there shall we?
TS: Yes. Alright then.
DK: On that positive note. Well, thanks very much for your time. That’s been absolutely marvellous.
TS: Well, I hope it’s you know I’ve been —
DK: No. It’s very good.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Tony Snook
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
David Kavanagh
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-02-14
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ASnookT180215, PSnookT1801
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
Format
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00:49:17 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Description
An account of the resource
Tony Snook was an air gunner and served on 115 Squadron in the later stages of the Second World War. A member of the school air training corps, he had his first experience of flight when his squadron partook in a summer camp. He describes how an opportunity to stand behind the pilot of a Beaufighter holding onto his seat came about. He enlisted as a PNB (pilot, navigator, bomb aimer) in November 1943, after leaving school. Following initial training he successfully undertook elementary flying training, however, after D-Day there was an excess of pilots, and Tony was moved to an air gunnery course on the Isle of Man. He describes meeting his crew and arriving at RAF Witchford in February 1945, where they joined 115 Squadron flying Lancasters. Five operations were undertaken before the end of hostilities. He describes the only time they came under fire and, unfortunately for the ground crew who cleaned up the aftermath, the major damage was to the elsan toilet. As members of his crew were discharged after the war, Tony was allocated to another crew. He describes several operations to Bari, Italy to repatriate soldiers from the Eighth Army in Lancasters that ferried twenty passengers and five crew. In 1946, Tony was posted to a gunnery instructor course and then to the central gunnery school at RAF Leconfield. In February 1946, shortly after his posting from 115 Squadron, his crew were all killed in a tragic accident. Tonywas discharged in November 1947, he regards his flying career as a great adventure, but appreciates that flying operations in 1945 were completely different from those undertaken earlier in the campaign.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Ian Whapplington
Julie Williams
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Netherlands
Italy
England--Kent
Wales--Bridgend
England--Cambridgeshire
England--Nottinghamshire
England--Oxfordshire
Italy--Pomigliano d'Arco
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-11
1945
1946
115 Squadron
28 Squadron
air gunner
Air Gunnery School
aircrew
Beaufighter
bombing
Flying Training School
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
Operation Dodge (1945)
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
RAF Langar
RAF Stormy Down
RAF Upper Heyford
RAF Witchford
sanitation
Tiger Moth
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1011/11582/PStavesME1609.1.jpg
b2a3de29c9de4065f10b2c17cdc2ec1d
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1011/11582/PStavesME1610.1.jpg
2ebf89a8950782e47733dd30fc72a42e
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Staves, Malcom Ely
M E Staves
Description
An account of the resource
77 items. The collection concerns Flying Officer Malcom Staves (1924 - 2012, 1591418, 203137 Royal Air Force) and contains his log book, items, documents, photographs, and training notebooks. He flew operations as a wireless operator with 207 Squadron. <br /><br />There is also a sub collection concerning Flight Lieutenant <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/show/1020">D A MacArthur.</a><br /><br />The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Christina Chatwin and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-02-26
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Staves, ME
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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De-mob Cigar
Description
An account of the resource
A cigar given to Malcolm Staves on his de-mob. Manufactured by Justus van Maurik
Creator
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Justus van Maurik
Format
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One cigar (unsmoked)
Type
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Physical object
Identifier
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PStavesME1609
PStavesME1610
Coverage
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Civilian
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--London
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Netherlands
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/920/11165/PLawrenceJ1701.2.jpg
8f465cc3d7c812b00cee04912bd3f2d6
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/920/11165/ALawrenceJ170510.1.mp3
e51fceacb81837afefd0f45e304345bb
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Lawrence, Lawrie
Jack Lawrence
J Lawrence
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Squadron Leader Jack 'Lawrie' Lawrence (b.1919, 533877 Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a wireless operator air gunner with 61 and 83 Squadrons. He was shot down and became a prisoner of war.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-05-10
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Lawrence, J
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
DM: This interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre. The interviewer is David Meanwell. The interviewee is Lawrie Lawrence. The interview is taking place at Mr Lawrence’s home in Sevenoaks in Kent on the 10th of May 2017. So, Lawrie if you could perhaps tell me a little bit about where and where you were born and your early life.
LL: Well, I was born in this little town, Ossett. I just did the normal schooling. Grammar School. Worked for a year and then joined the Air Force.
DM: What did you do when you worked for the first time around?
LL: Oh well, I did a little, an electrician. And when I was seventeen and a quarter that August, joined. I could join the RAF.
DM: And why did you want to join the RAF?
LL: I wanted to fly. When I joined they said, ‘What do you want to be?’ I said, ‘A pilot.’ He said, ‘Well, do you want to make a career of the Air Force?’ I said, ‘Yes, of course. He said, ‘Well, don’t be a pilot. Go to Cranwell. Be a wireless operator or something.’ Which I did.
DM: And that was ok with you was it? You —
LL: Yeah. Yeah.
DM: You weren’t too disappointed?
LL: No. Well, I was a bit disappointed but he said there was no career. A pilot was four years on, six years off. That was it. So I had no choice actually.
DM: So how long was the training at Cranwell? Can you remember?
LL: A year.
DM: And then what happened?
LL: Then I was posted to Hemswell. They had old biplanes. Just getting rid of them, and we got Ansons which were just coming into service. It was just like flying in a flying club. Weekends we’d give displays everywhere. It was very nice indeed.
DM: How many crew in an Anson?
LL: Well, we flew with three but you could fly with two. But that was it. It was like being in a flying club. I used to go up, take one out on weekends. Go out and see friends. It was, it was very nice. But then we got Blenheims and that was the start of the trouble. We filled the graveyard at Hemswell Cemetery. Crashing. Crashing. Crashing. I’ve got photographs somewhere. This is a book. My daughter made me write it.
DM: Is that your memoir basically.
LL: Yes. What I could remember. They were not bad to fly in but they were very dangerous because they were the first Blenheims produced. That was about it.
DM: So this was a Mark 1 Blenheim obviously.
LL: Yeah. Yeah.
DM: Yes. Were you based at Hemswell the whole time with, with —
LL: I was at Hemswell. Yes. We got the Blenheims. We didn’t have them very long and we got the Hampdens of course. And I was suddenly posted from Hemswell to Waddington. I went to the, formed the what we called the little high speed flight at Waddington. We went and collected a new Blenheim and we were briefed to fly to Africa. And we were detailed for September the 4th.
DM: What year was this?
LL: ’39.
DM: Right.
LL: But of course the war broke out on September the 3rd so we suddenly flew back to Hemswell and we were operational. And we took off and made our first flight in February.
DM: Can you remember how you felt when war was declared? You know. What? Was it an exciting time? A frightening time?
LL: Just a normal time quite truthfully. Until February because we didn’t do, we didn’t go into, we never made a bombing flight until February.
DM: So, what were you doing between September and February?
LL: Just training.
DM: And that was still at Hemswell.
LL: Yes. Yes.
DM: Ok. So, if we go forward to February 1940 then.
LL: Right.
DM: What was your first sortie? You first mission.
LL: Oh. I can’t, can’t remember.
DM: It was a bombing mission.
LL: Oh yes. It was a bombing mission. And I’d been with this crew for three years. We had no trouble bombing aerodromes and things like that. We didn’t see, didn’t see much action. But getting, getting there at night was a bit of a trouble [laughs] Frightening the place.
DM: So how many of you in the crew?
LL: Four. And we never saw anybody from take-off to landing. We were all separated. Yeah.
DM: And how many missions did you fly on that first?
LL: Pardon?
DM: How many missions did you fly on your first?
LL: I flew thirty seven. I should have stopped at thirty but something happened. I went on to thirty seven. By which time we were, the crew had been together all that time and we were doing quite well finding targets, dropping our bombs. One morning we thought we’d got to Blackpool but it was the tower in Paris.
Other: Arc de Triomphe. .
LL: Pardon?
Other: Arc de Triomphe.
LL: Yeah. Arc de Triomphe.
DM: Yeah.
LL: Yeah. We were flying around it before — we thought we were in Blackpool. Things like that happened.
DM: Right. Yeah. That was, that would have been a bit worrying wouldn’t it? So when you came to the end of those thirty seven.
LL: My tour. Yes.
DM: Yeah. That tour. Yes. You obviously had some leave.
LL: I went to Upper Heyford as an instructor.
DM: Right. Ok. And instructing on wireless or gunning or — ?
LL: On everything to do with flying. Yeah.
DM: What did you think of that?
LL: A bit fed up actually. A bit dangerous too because sometimes you met a pilot who had never flown one before. And so after three months I volunteered to go back on flying and I was sent to Scampton. 83 Squadron. And I went with my pilot and we had to form C Flight. We ‘d got brand new crews coming in. We had to train them. It was a pretty dangerous sort of job.
DM: So that was just as dangerous as the job before.
LL: It was [laughs] Yes.
DM: But you had the same pilot as you had the first time around.
LL: I had the same pilot. We, we started, we formed the flight. C Flight. 83. And on our sixth flight we were attacked by a Messerschmitt. Messerschmitt. We never saw him. He opened fire and the port wing was completely on fire. The engine was hanging down and I was on the floor of the cockpit. A bullet had taken off my left part of my ear.
DM: But it didn’t take your ear off obviously.
LL: It didn’t. No. But it deafened it. Yeah.
DM: Was that the first time in all your missions you’d been attacked by another aircraft?
LL: No. We were attacked by a Dutch fighter before Holland came into the war.
DM: That was more of a warning was it?
LL: Fired back at him and he just waved to us and went off. Yeah. And we had [pause] we landed all over the place. We’d done, we’d done six.
DM: So this was your forty third trip.
LL: I’m trying to remember. Yes. Before I left [pause] before I left Hemswell I had a bad attack of pleurisy.
DM: Oh right.
LL: They took me off a flight and as I went to [pause] my crew flew. And then they gave me another crew but when I, when I was sick for a fortnight my crew was shot down. And the chap who took my place lost his left arm on his first trip.
DM: Did your crew survive?
LL: The pilot. The pilot was, yeah but on my second tour when we were shot down the pilot was killed.
DM: What about your old crew when the chap who replaced you lost his arm? So he obviously survived.
LL: They were prisoners of war.
DM: They were all prisoners of war.
LL: Yeah.
DM: Right.
LL: Yeah.
LL: So, ok so if we come forward now again to when you were shot down.
DM: Yeah.
LL: You were attacked by a Messerschmitt.
DM: Yes.
LL: The plane was badly damaged.
DM: [unclear]
LL: You were on the floor with your ear piece missing.
DM: Yeah.
LL: What happened next?
DM: Well, I shouted. There was nobody answering me so I just assumed everybody had baled out except, you know. So I baled out. I got out at about thirteen thousand feet so I was alright.
Other: And the rest of them?
LL: Pardon? Well, I didn’t, I didn’t, I never saw them again.
DM: Right. So, at that moment you didn’t know whether they’d survived or whether they hadn’t. Obviously later on you found out.
LL: Not at that moment. I didn’t know. I knew they’d gone.
DM: Yes.
LL: But I didn’t know what had, what had happened to them.
DM: Right. Ok.
LL: I landed in a field in Holland and I was in a hell of a mess. My right ankle was [pause] wasn’t broken but it was —
DM: That was from the parachute landing was it?
LL: Yes. Yeah. Parachute landing. So I went to the nearest house, knocked at the door and a chap came and [noise] so I told him who I was and he invited me in. And I don’t know what happened but I was busy stuffing all my gear into their fire and the Germans arrived. I don’t know where. They’d come from the guardroom, they said which was about fifty yards away.
DM: Oh right. So, you were in a, were you in, actually in a camp?
LL: Yes. But I was on the borders of it. Yeah.
DM: And what sort of a camp was it?
LL: I don’t know.
DM: A labour camp I suppose, was it?
LL: I have no idea.
DM: Right. So they arrived and arrested you obviously.
LL: They arrested me. Yes. They were charming.
DM: Really.
LL: Absolutely charming. Yes. And they took me to their guardroom and I met a young man there who had been to college in England.
DM: A German.
LL: A German. He gave me a tin of Woodbines. I’ll never forget that. I was talking to him. Suddenly the door flung open. In come the Luftwaffe. They started to knock me around. They took me in a car. They took me to their headquarters and I was just in solitary.
DM: So, how, were you sort of put in solitary confinement?
LL: Yes. Yes. And then I was interrogated by, I call him a gentleman. He said he was the Red Cross representative and he seemed to know more about my squadron then I did. I kept my mouth shut and I stayed there for about a week.
DM: Before you, before you were captured had you had training back in England about what the interrogation process would be?
LL: Nothing.
DM: Nothing at all.
LL: Nothing. It was going but I’d never had one. No. No.
DM: So you didn’t know what to expect.
LL: I didn’t. Absolutely not. I didn’t. I was quite raw. Yeah. And [pause] that’s right, then they sent me to Dulag Luft by train.
DM: Where? Do you know whereabouts? Is that in Germany or what?
LL: Germany.
DM: Yeah.
LL: Yeah. It was the camp where all, all prisoners went through.
DM: Right.
LL: [unclear] When I got to Dulag Luft I thought I was going to be interviewed by an officer and they showed me into this room and the officer was this bloke who told me he was the Red Cross representative.
DM: Same man.
LL: So I wasn’t very good mannered and I was given a fortnights solitary confinement [laughs]
DM: And were you in Dulag Luft for very long?
LL: I was there about a month I think.
DM: What was life like there? Was —apart from the solitary confinement of course.
LL: Well, it was up and down. For instance when I came through, or rather when I left Holland they sent me to Amsterdam. I beg your pardon. I’d forgotten that. I went to Amsterdam. I was in a prison there and this young Rhodesian chap came and he was in Stalag 3 and we were quite friendly. A nice chap. He said he’d baled out of a Manchester. And when we got to, he travelled to Dulag Luft. When we got to Dulag Luft there was another crew of a Manchester there and they told him after he’d baled out the pilot changed his mind and just flew back. So, he was a different person altogether then. And when I was in the Amsterdam prison in solitary I met a chap called Peter Thomas. And we could talk through the wire. I’ll never forget. He said he would never escape. He’d just passed his intermediate solicitor and when he was going, when he was in the camp he was going to study and when he got back to England he could become and full time solicitor. Then he was going to get into parliament. And he said, ‘I’ve got to get a very safe seat. And when I’m in parliament the Prime Minister will [unclear] for me. And I met him again long, long after the war and it had all come true. He was walking down the street with Neville Heath and he was the deputy. He was Deputy Prime Minister and became Foreign Secretary for a while. Peter Thomas.
DM: Amazing.
LL: He was an amazing chap. Yeah. I just saw him then but he’d made his mind up. This was ’41. August ’41. Yeah. He was an interesting chap. Yeah.
DM: So, Amsterdam. You were there for a little while.
LL: About a month I think, you see, yes.
DM: And was that an Air Force camp or was it a —
LL: It was. It was an Air Force. They called it an interview camp. Everybody was interviewed by a representative supposedly of the Red Cross. Things like that. Who knew more about what was happening than he did. And we were all very raw. Who did I meet? I met one or two well-known people. Bader.
DM: Oh, he was in there.
LL: He was there. Just went through. Yeah. And then we were separated one morning and said we were going to the, to an Air Force camp and as I was a senior and I was a flight sergeant, everybody else were sergeants we were put on a train and we went to a place. Stalag 357. It was an Army camp and we got moved into a room full of Air Force who had been naughty boys at a camp in Barth. Stalag Luft 1. And we were not treated very well.
DM: But you weren’t naughty boys.
LL: Pardon?
DM: You hadn’t been naughty boys there had you?
LL: No. But they had you see.
DM: Yeah.
LL: And they was held there.
DM: And you were treated the same as they were.
LL: Yes. Yes. And I met one chap coming down and he was interested in escaping. So we talked about it and talked about it. Anyway, we decided we’d change identities with a private soldier. And we were very lucky. A gang of New Zealanders had just arrived from Crete and they were in a hell of a mess. They just wanted to sit down. So I found a man who wanted to change identities. And a football match was arranged. A fight broke out and while that was, while the Germans were dealing with that I was changing my beautiful blue into his flea ridden khaki and I went back to the Army compound. He went back to the Air Force compound. And Jock, he also changed over. He became Army. So there were two of us.
DM: And why did you decide you wanted to be in that barracks.
LL: Because if you were a private soldier you could volunteer to go out to work. And if you get a working party of less than fifteen you only had one guard. Which made escaping pretty simple, I must admit.
DM: Right.
LL: Yeah.
DM: So obviously nobody gave you away. None of, none of the people in the camp.
LL: The only thing that happened was I’d been there about a month and they got me out one morning and sent me down to the hospital. I didn’t know what was going on and daren’t say anything. Anyway, a doctor came in and said, ‘Shave.’ ‘Oh, thank you sir.’ So I shaved my beard off. And he gave me, he shouted a load at me. He said, ‘Shave down there.’ They were going to circumcise me. This bloke had gone sick in Crete. His papers had just caught up with him. They were posted. I’d had it done many many years ago. Anyway, the Germans wouldn’t believe their papers were incorrect. Never would. So it took a bit of talking out of.
DM: But you managed to talk them out of it.
LL: I managed it. Yes. Yes. Yeah.
DM: So did you go out on a few working parties before you tried to escape?
LL: Well, I started. We started looking around for a working party and then we came into our first difficulty. We were with the Army now and the people in charge of all this stuff had been caught in Dunkirk, the early part of the war. And they were living like kings. They had their own beds and everything. They were in the same hut as all the food was stored. So if they were hungry they just went and helped themselves. And when they heard we were there to try to escape which would cause trouble they were non-cooperative. I’ll come to this a bit later on. Saved my life this, but they were uncooperative. We just found one sergeant. He’d been caught early and he fixed us up with a working party. And off we went [unclear]
[recording paused]
DM: You went on a working party. You went out on a working party.
LL: We went on this working party at the house.
DM: Can you remember what you went to do? What the work was?
LL: Oh, my God [laughs] I’m trying. I’m sorry about this.
DM: Oh, don’t worry. Don’t worry.
LL: Oh yes. Yes. This was a working party in a small village. A very small village. And they had been formed of privates caught in the beginning of the war and they were having a hell of a time. A good time. And one bloke who was there couldn’t read and couldn’t write. That was the type they were. And on a Saturday two of them were allowed to go to the local and have a beer. I was astounded at all this. And I was working on a quarry. I had to push for these things. Anyway, we decided we’d get away and one night, in those days you all slept together and your clothes were in a room with bars.
DM: So they locked your clothes away.
LL: Yeah. So we get [Maximal?] managed to hide them. Anyway, we were, we sawed through the window in the afternoon, half way through, steel things. And that night our one guard was asleep you see. We tried, I tried to get through the bars and all the wall came down [laughs] Anyway, we got away and we were walking more or less due east. We, we were heading for Yugoslavia and we, on the map we had a lake marked out where the Sunderlands were flying. Landing arms for Tito. And we wanted to get there by Czechoslovakia. Anyway, we walked as the crow flies. If we came to a river we swam it. If we came to a bridge we had to go underneath it and we never saw a soul. We used to start walking at 10 o’clock. Finish at five. Find a place to hide for the day. And then go on the next day.
DM: What did you do for food?
LL: We carried it. We carried quite a bit of food with us that we’d found in this working party. And one day we were going along and because we’d left the train and everything so we reckoned we were very near [unclear] and the border in to Czechoslovakia. And we were resting during the day as usual and a chap came up and smiled at me. So I smiled back and he went away. And we had a little natter the two of us. We said, ‘Has he gone for help? Has he gone to tell the Germans? Is he not going to bother doing anything?’ So we decided we would wait and see. And we were wrong. We were surrounded by Germans. They thought we were Russian parachutists. Anyway, the policeman they brought with them, he was, he was a nice gentleman. He said he’d lock us up but before he took us to his police station he took me around the back and shook hands with me. He was [pause] And then went to the police station and then we were interviewed by the Gestapo for the next, oh ten days. Knocked around a bit of course and then they decided we were what we said we were. Two private soldiers. And we were sent back to the camp. And on the way we were on a train, we had a the guard and we got off the train and there was a man sat there with his luggage and he said, ‘Hey, you blokes, come and carry my luggage.’ He spoke English. We said, ‘Oh, get lost.’ Anyway. when we got to the camp he was the war officer. I finished up with a month solitary [laughs] So I did solitary and then went back into the camp again.
DM: And you were still a New Zealand private.
LL: Yes. Oh yes.
DM: As far as the Germans were concerned.
LL: Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. And then after we put our names down for a working party again and they said, ‘You’re not worth it. It’s not worth it.’ Anyway, one night this sergeant came to see us. He said, ‘I’ve got two vacancies in a party made up by fourteen privates.’ But they were all commandoes. They’d been caught on the raid to St Nazaire so, you know, they were wonderful to be with.
DM: Yes.
LL: People of the same mind. And we were posted. We were sent to Görlitz. It was an Elementary Flying School. So of course we told them who we were and everything. And the idea was we would try and steal an aircraft because they were all over the place. But we found out that they always stored their aircraft with empty tanks. Now, in the Air Force you always left your aircraft with full tanks. They stored them empty. So it was a no go. And we worked there for two or three months I think it was.
DM: What sort of work was that?
LL: Oh, anything they could find. My job was every day I had to get these two oxon, we named them Spit and Cough and then had to collect a German guard and we’d to go down to the nearest town, collect the rations, drive them back. That was my day’s work. I was very lucky. And one of them, one of the chaps there was an ex-cook from Savoy. So we really, we did live well. We’d no [unclear] We did very well there. And then we decided we would escape. So one night —
DM: Was this just the two of you again or —
LL: No. Two commandoes were coming with us. So, one night we got out, a simple sort of through, you know barbed wire and everything. And we were told that we were on top of a mountain and there were three ranges so the idea was to walk down and up and rest the next day. But when we got to the first range we could see eleven more [laughs] So we were doing that. Walking. What happened to us then? [pause] During, during the day we covered ourselves up with foliage. At night —
DM: Had you taken food with you again?
LL: Oh yes. The Savoy.
DM: He’d made meals for you?
LL: Because I was driving the rations back. So harmless I could slip a few into this thing or hide it in the cart or give the rest to the Germans.
DM: What direction were you heading this time?
LL: Czechoslovakia.
DM: Right.
LL: Yeah.
[recording paused]
LL: We came to the River Oder where we had a shave and a clean up and swam across it.
DM: What were you, what were you wearing? Because obviously you weren’t in a uniform.
LL: Oh, these khaki shorts and —
DM: So you were sort of —
LL: That’s all I had. Yeah.
DM: Right.
LL: Yeah. Yeah.
DM: Which is I suppose one of the reasons you had to travel by night.
LL: Pardon?
DM: That’s one of the reasons you had to travel by night.
LL: Yes. Yes.
DM: Yes.
[pause]
LL: Caught near [unclear] on the border.
DM: How did that come about this time?
LL: It was the local gendarmerie caught us again. And then we were, we were taken to a place called Ollmuth and was delivered into the hands of the Gestapo.
DM: Again.
LL: Again. Yeah. And then after a few days we went back to the thing.
DM: So, I mean you said the first time when you were being interviewed by the Gestapo —
LL: Yeah.
DM: They knocked you around a bit. Was it the same the second time? Similar techniques or —
LL: Similar techniques. Just the same more or less. Yes.
DM: They didn’t think you were paratroopers this time. Or did they?
LL: Pardon?
DM: Did they think you were, you were paratroopers again or did they think you were just escaped prisoners?
LL: Just escaped privates.
DM: Yes.
LL: And I was a New Zealander with a Yorkshire accent.
DM: Which I suppose they didn’t know.
LL: Yeah.
DM: Yeah.
LL: Yeah. I missed quite a lot out quite truthfully.
DM: Well, you can go back.
[pause]
LL: Far more detail in there than I can remember [pause] When we were, when we were taken, being taken back to Landsdorf on the train. We got off the train and they took two of us to a house. They took us downstairs, put us in a cellar, there was no bed. Nothing. And we were there and we had one meal a day. And then on the Sunday they called me out. Took me to the bottom of the garden and said, ‘Stand there.’ That was 8 o’clock. At 9 o’clock six Army, six Army arrived with rifles and this bloke said I’d been looked at, investigated and I was going to be shot. This was 10 o’clock. And at 12 o’clock —
Other: Morning or night?
LL: Pardon?
Other: Morning or night? Morning or night?
LL: Morning.
Other: Morning.
LL: And at 12 o’clock I was stood there. The Army was stood there. A Luftwaffe officer arrived and said, ‘Come with me.’ Took me, and they took me back to the cellar. And I never knew why I wasn’t shot until three weeks —
DM: Three weeks ago.
LL: Yeah. There was a programme on TV. It was called shot soldiers or something. It appears that Hitler had, after the Great Escape from the thing he said anybody who escaped and was shot was to be, anybody that escaped and caught was to be shot. And the Gestapo was to carry out the shooting. Anyway, the Gestapo refused to do the shooting and that’s why I wasn’t shot.
DM: Right. So the fact that the Luftwaffe officer, it wasn’t because they’d discovered you were an airman.
LL: Pardon? No. that was —
DM: That was just coincidence.
LL: Just coincidence. He had an idea I think. And it appears that according to the dates that Hitler made this order, the Gestapo refused on the Saturday and I was on this to be shot on the Sunday. And they took me back to the cellar. Threw me in the cellar and that was it. He said, he said I’d been court martialled.
DM: In your absence obviously.
LL: In my absence. Yeah. And that was it.
DM: So, eventually they took you from that house back on the train, did they?
LL: Back on the train. And when I got on the train it was a truck and it had a barbed wire roof. So they put my hands through the barbed wire and handcuffed me. I travelled like that for twelve hours. Yeah. By which time I couldn’t care less they’d knocked me about so much. Anyway, I got back to Landsdorf. Yeah.
DM: So, you’ve escaped twice.
LL: Yes.
DM: Been caught twice.
LL: Yes.
DM: And you’re still a private in the New Zealand —
LL: I was still a private. And, oh then I was, that’s right they found out I was Air Force. I never found out who, how but they said who I was. I was, by this time I was so fed up. I’d been knocked about. I’d been, and I went into solitary confinement and Bader was in the next cell. So I had a natter with him and he tried to change identities.
DM: With you?
LL: No. With a private —
DM: With a private.
LL: Gave the game away. He was a big mouth. A good flyer and everything but one to stay very clear of. And they stuck me in Stalag Luft 3. And I was in the bed by the next door, hut rather and I was a bit brassed off. You know. So I started studying economics and then out of the blue one day they said, ‘You’re going on the train tomorrow to Hedwigenkoog.’ Which was, which was north. And I went to Hedwigenkoog . And this instructor came too so he formed a school. And I studied. Anyway, when I got back, it’s in the book. One day he says, ‘The Germans allowed me to take the exams from Oxford University. But the Germans will be there. You know. Make sure you don’t talk to anybody,’ because there was about eight of us. And we took, we took the exam. I took eight papers and after I’d been home for six months I had a letter from Oxford University to say I’d got honours in six. Yeah. Anyway, we stayed at this Hedwigenkoog, and suddenly we heard the guns. The Russian guns. So the Germans got us out quickly and marched off the road. And we were in a column and there was a column in front of us of people who had been prisoners a year more than me. And there was, and so Spitfires arrived and shot up the column with the oldest in and killed about a hundred. Yeah. We were only about a hundred yards behind. Very lucky. Anyway, we decided that we’d, we’d had enough so one night we deserted the column.
DM: And when you say we, who was —
LL: Two of us.
DM: Right.
LL: Two of us. And we walked on. That’s right. We kept going and we got to the German lines and up ahead we heard a bit of a battle going on. And it was a small village and there was a tank. A battle between Canadian tanks and German tanks. So then we waited for that to finish and then we walked down and met the Canadians and told them who we were. They said, ‘Well, look what are you going to do now?’ I said, ‘We’re going to walk to the Rhine and get across.’ They said, ‘Look, there’s a brand new Mercedes in that garage. Go get it and we’ll fill it full of petrol.’ So we got this new Merc out of this garage. The owner was shaking his fist at us. And they filled it full of petrol and we got to the Rhine but we couldn’t go across. There was only traffic in one direction. So we swapped it for a camera and walked across. I got to the nearest aerodrome and got a lift back and landed at a little place called Wing. And we were jolly and the WAAF were there to kiss you and everything. And then I was asked to go to the Endsleigh Hotel in London. I said, ‘Well, what’s, what’s wrong?’ ‘Oh, we want to interview you.’ Anyhow, I got to the Endsleigh Hotel. Nothing happened for about a week. And suddenly one morning I was taken to this office of a genera and he was asking me all about when I was a private. You know, a private soldier and what I did and everything. And he started picking. Picking holes. So, I said, ‘Look, you know your blokes were the least, you know the biggest worry in Germany were your blokes. They were having such a good time there wasn’t one of them fit to go. None of them would help us. Only the people caught in Dunkirk I think.’ Anyway, one bloke turned out to be warrant officer Sheriff. And he’d just been given the OBE. So my temper really let go. And it appears I was seeing this general, they were thinking of giving me medal. I don’t know what. Conspicuous Gallantry medal. Something like, like that. But the general told me to get out. [unclear]
DM: So do you think someone had given bad reports about you? Somebody —
LL: No. The general. I shouted my head off.
DM: Right.
LL: I was a fool. I was there. I was so [pause] this bloke was building the Army up to me and I’d had no help from the Army whatsoever. In fact just the opposite apart from one sergeant. And I told the general. He wouldn’t believe me. I lost my temper because I’d just been home for a short time. I wasn’t really myself. And he said, ‘Get out.’ So I got out. Never heard any more.
DM: So where did you go? Went back to —
LL: I went home and then a posting came through. I forget where it was.
DM: Had you found out by then what had happened —
LL: Pardon?
DM: Had you found out by then what had happened to the rest of your crew?
LL: Yes. I got the address of my pilot. He was buried in —
DM: Oh right. So you —
LL: Yeah.
DM: You had a letter that told you —
LL: Only the pilot. The other two I never, never —
DM: But the other two survived did they?
LL: I presume so.
DM: You didn’t run across them before or after.
LL: No. No. I never saw them again because I was in this Army camp for and attached to it for two years. So, I don’t know where they got to. But I’ve been to my pilot’s grave.
DM: And where’s that?
LL: There you are.
DM: What does it say? [pause] Holland. Jonkerbos War Cemetery in Nijmegen.
LL: Yeah. Yeah.
DM: So you have visited him.
LL: Yes. Yes. I have. Yeah.
DM: So where were you posted after you came home?
LL: Oh.
[pause]
LL: Oh, I was posted to a place called Bromley.
DM: Right.
LL: Which was a, one of these plotting stations. Plotting. It was a big house which had been taken over and it was a plotter and I was, I was duty officer for eight hours.
DM: Were you still a flight sergeant?
LL: I was warrant officer.
DM: A warrant officer.
LL: A warrant officer. Yeah. And I was there some time. I think from down there I went down to [pause] I can’t remember now [rustling papers] From Oxford you see. That’s the post I actually got [unclear] in.
DM: Was examined at Stalag Luft 6. 357.
LL: Yeah.
DM: Under the Authority of the University. Amazing.
LL: That came through, is it March ’64.
DM: It took a while.
LL: Yeah. I was a prisoner. Seven stone seven when I came home. That was me after three weeks, after three months at home.
DM: Fattened up.
LL: Yeah. I went to Biggin Hill, and then North Weald, and then Padgate. And then I was posted to Vienna.
DM: So what date are we?
LL: Pardon?
DM: What date are we now? What year are we in that you went to Vienna? Still 1945?
LL: Yes. And then in Vienna I collapsed. Oh, I got married and we went and I was posted to headquarters in Vienna and I collapsed one day. My lungs were bleeding so they flew me back to Wroughton Hospital. And then they decided I had six months rest. Then they decided that my right shoulder, there was a little, the [scab] was too bad. They had to cut it out. So I went up to, I went to another I can’t remember what hospital it was but it was a civilian hospital. Bader was in next door.
DM: You kept coming across him.
LL: Yeah [laughs] Cheshire, the bloke who had the homes.
DM: Oh, Cheshire.
LL: Cheshire. He was in the next. They treated it like a college but they, it was a wonderful place to be to be quite truthfully. One morning the doctor came around and he was a well-known surgeon of course that specialised in lungs. And he was telling me my budgie’s died, ‘I bet he died from bloody TB.’ And do you know he did a post mortem on my budgie and it was a heart attack. And he was, he was the biggest surgeon in England just about. Oh, and then I was posted to Hendon. At Hendon, I was commissioned now, I was posted to Cyprus. Headquarters Cyprus. And I retired from there.
DM: And what —
LL: As a squadron leader.
DM: And what year did you leave the Air Force?
LL: [unclear] yes.
Other: Oh, a bit later.
DM: So about 1964.
Other: What year did the, what year did Turkey get invaded?
LL: Pardon?
Other: ’71. So —
LL: What year were you born?
Other: ’55.
LL: It was after ’55 then.
Other: Yeah. Yeah. Because I was, you were in Wroughton when I was born.
LL: Yeah.
Other: And then you went to Germany. You are in Wildenrath in Germany. Dusseldorf.
LL: Dusseldorf. Yes.
Other: Then we were in, you were at the Ministry of Defence. We lived in —
LL: Pardon?
Other: Then you were at the Ministry of Defence at [unclear] Aerodrome.
LL: Yes. That’s where I met Peter Thompson. The navigator. That’s right.
Other: Then Hendon.
LL: Then from there I was posted to Cyprus.
Other: From Hendon to Cyprus. Yes. Yeah.
LL: Out there.
Other: Yeah.
LL: Yeah. And I did a tour as squadron leader in charge of all flights in the Near East. Nice posting.
Other: ’67 I think he might have —
LL: Pardon?
Other: Sixty — I think it’s ’64 you must have come out.
DM: So, if I take you back to —
Other: No. It’s later than that. Because I came back to, well you came out of the RAF. I went to Churston and I was —
LL: I came out in ’59.
Other: Yeah. No. No. It was later than ’59.
DM: ’69 probably. ’69.
Other: ’69.
LL: Yeah.
Other: Yeah.
DM: So, take you back to 1945.
LL: Yeah.
DM: Why did you decide to stay in the Air Force?
LL: Well, I was, I was a career. I always —
DM: Oh yes. of course you, yes because you joined as a career person when you were seventeen years old. Of course. Yes. Yes.
LL: Yeah. That’s why I became —
DM: So that was always the plan.
LL: That’s why I didn’t go on the pilot’s course, I thought.
DM: Yeah.
LL: Yeah.
DM: Yeah.
LL: Yeah.
DM: Earlier on when we were speaking before we started recording you said that when you, before you joined the Air Force you played Rugby League.
LL: Yeah.
DM: Did you carry on playing rugby through your Air Force career?
LL: Yes. Yes. I played for Cranwell. Yeah. Cranwell Command.
DM: That was Rugby Union.
LL: Rugby Union. Oh, of course.
DM: What position did you play?
LL: Centre.
Other: Eddie Waring was your manager at one time.
LL: That was Dewsbury.
Other: Oh that’s —
LL: That was Rugby League.
DM: That was when you were young man. Yeah.
LL: Yeah.
DM: Yeah.
LL: Yeah. And I wasn’t happy in Cyprus. I didn’t feel as though I was getting anywhere. And I wrote to somebody. Anyway, they put me in touch with Barclays Bank and when, when they realised I’d got six honours from Oxford they offered me an immediate job as a first cashier. They said, ‘Where do you want to go?’ And I was mad on sailing because in Cyprus you worked in the mornings and sailed in the afternoon and I was mad on sailing. So I said, ‘I want to go to the seaside.’ So they gave me a choice of three. Anyway, that morning we had to, we were testing our Comet and we flew over Torquay and Paignton and the other one was up on the north coast. Anyway, there was three. But where did we go?
Other: Brixham.
LL: Brixham. Brixham seemed the best to I put in for Brixham. Came down to Brixham and that, moved in to a house and I did ten years.
DM: Always in Brixham.
LL: Pardon?
DM: Always in Brixham.
LL: In Brixham. Yeah. Oh, yes. I was in charge of the bank and that was it. Six years. Until we’d had enough and one day my wife and I were talking and she said, ‘Why don’t we go abroad?’ Anyway, we finished up I retired. We came to Spain and we saw a house half built on the, we arrived on the Sunday, saw the house on the Monday, bought it on the Wednesday [laughs] And in a pub we met a chap who did furnishings and we gave him a cheque. Just gave him a cheque in a pub. Five hundred pounds. And that was June. And we came in September and it was finished, furnished and we were there for ten years. No. Twenty five years.
DM: Whereabouts in Spain was it?
LL: [unclear] which is five or six miles from Malaga. And nothing went wrong with us the whole time. We trusted them, they trusted us and we had a marvellous time until my wife died of heart trouble. And then talked me into coming back out. I was five years by myself but that wasn’t very nice.
DM: In Spain.
LL: Yeah.
DM: Yeah.
LL: Sold it with no trouble. Came back. And that’s it.
DM: Have you kept in touch with the RAF?
LL: Only through the POW. And I got friendly with Charles Clarke, a bloke called Anderson. But there’s not many of us left now. The next reunion is in September I think at Henlow. I shan’t bother. It’s too far to mess around.
Other: We got invited to —
LL: Pardon?
Other: We went to Number 10 though, didn’t we?
LL: Oh, that was that was, yeah. Got especially picked for that. But for the old POW they go to Henlow every year now. They want to stay the weekends. Go in the mess. Too much trouble.
DM: If I can take you right back.
LL: Yes.
DM: To when you were a young.
LL: Please.
DM: Whippersnapper.
LL: Yeah.
DM: Did you have any brothers or sisters?
LL: Sister. Yeah.
DM: And did your dad fight in the First World War do you know?
LL: No.
DM: Serve in the First World War?
LL: No.
DM: He didn’t.
LL: No
DM: So he was the wrong age I guess.
LL: Yes.
DM: So he was one of the lucky ones really.
LL: Yeah. Just worked in a mill.
DM: Yeah.
LL: Yeah. Yeah.
DM: What became of your sister?
Other: Your sister was older wasn’t she?
LL: She was a few years older than me. Yeah. When did she die?
Other: She died. Oh, quite a few years ago. She got dementia. Yeah. Very badly.
LL: Yeah.
Other: And was in a home for quite a long time.
LL: Yeah. Yeah.
DM: So, looking back. Do you think, this is probably an unfair question what part of the Air Force was your, was your happiest time?
LL: Oh. Bomber Command before the war. Marvellous.
DM: The flying club era, so to speak. Yeah.
LL: Wonderful. Yeah. Yes. It was wonderful. We were happy all the time but there was no bullshit or anything like that. And it was, it was grand. Yes.
Other: So you used to test the planes then, didn’t you?
LL: Pardon?
Other: You used to test the planes.
LL: Yes. Yes. On my, when I was shot down I was already on my sixth trip and when we formed C Flight, 83 our job was to meet new crews straight from training and take a navigator and a rear gunner, take them up with us for their first trip. So every time I went with my pilot the other two crew were on their first trip. Every time. It was a bit of —
DM: Yeah.
LL: You know. Because we usually, we had so many crashes. We crashed on, the navigator was lost half the time. And after [unclear] one day we crashed on Blackpool Racecourse. We crashed on Shoreham front. We had two bad landings where we wrote the aircraft off. Ran out of petrol. That was the six.
DM: So none of them were pilot error. They were all navigational error and things like that.
LL: Navigation.
DM: Yeah.
LL: Yeah. I used to try and home on places but there were so many other aircraft homing, you know and because as I say when that [unclear] and the tower came up the navigator said, ‘Oh, Blackpool.’
DM: But it was the Eiffel Tower. Yeah.
LL: Yeah. Which I’d flown around in 1938. Below the thing. The celebration of the Bastille.
Other: You flew, you flew through the arch didn’t you?
LL: Pardon?
Other: You flew through the arch.
LL: Oh, that first time. Yeah.
Other: Yeah.
LL: We went around below the tower. Yeah. The three of us.
DM: So to be clear when you were shot down which was on your second tour but the —
LL: Yes.
DM: That Was with a raw crew as well? Was it?
LL: Yeah.
DM: Just you and the pilot —
LL: That’s right.
DM: Were the only two experienced members of the crew.
LL: That’s right.
DM: You were the only experienced member of the crew who survived
LL: That’s right. That’s right. Yeah. Six trips. We did six trips and each time we had to take a brand new navigator, a brand new air gunner and keep telling them all the way how to climb around, keep looking around out there. It wasn’t very nice but it was a job to be done and we did it. Yeah.
DM: But you must have wondered, why you?
LL: Because we formed the flight, you see.
DM: Yeah.
LL: And with the crew Danny and I, Danny Wilcox, his, his best man when he was married was [pause] I’ve forgotten his name. The bloke who lost his arm in the air force.
Other: There will be a few of those, dad.
LL: Pardon?
Other: There will be a few of those.
LL: Yeah. He was very well known. I can’t remember his name now. But we were together. That was it. Yeah. Because we were all [unclear] captains you see, six months if that.
DM: Did you meet your wife during the war?
LL: No.
DM: After.
LL: No. When I was at Padgate. I’d just, I’d just been commissioned. I was posted to Padgate as officer in charge of closing it for recruits going through Padgate. Which was [unclear] yes. Yes. I left the Air Force ’69. March ’69. That’s the letter from them saying goodbye to me.
DM: So you were in the Air Force for thirty three years.
LL: Thirty seven.
DM: Thirty seven years.
LL: Til ’69. Yeah.
[recording paused]
LL: I always remember when I went, came from Amsterdam to Dulag Luft they were marching me through Amsterdam and a lady came and gave me a medal. The Germans knocked the hell out of her. Yeah. [unclear] concentration camp. Ollmuth Civil Prison. Görlitz. Nixdorf punishment camp. Sagan. [unclear] A bloke called Grimshaw who spoke perfect German and he got out and he fixed something up in the dams, I think. Anyway, the Gestapo got him. Shot him.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Lawrie Lawrence
Creator
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David Meanwell
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-05-10
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ALawrenceJ170510, PLawrenceJ1701
Conforms To
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Pending review
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Format
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01:01:26 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Description
An account of the resource
Jack ‘Lawrie’ Lawrence planned on making a career in the RAF and joined in 1938. He enjoyed those early days when it felt like he belonged to a flying club. This was interrupted by the start of war and operational flying. He flew in Blenheims and notes they ‘filled the graveyard’ because of the accident rate with the aircraft. He volunteered for a second tour after a spell as an instructor. He was shot down and became a prisoner of war. He swapped identity with a New Zealand soldier so he would be able to volunteer for working parties which would give him the opportunity to escape. He made two attempts but was caught and delivered into the hands of the gestapo. On his last recapture he was held in a cellar before being called out into a garden where he was told he would be executed. He was unexpectedly reprieved and returned to prison. During the Long March he made his last escape and met with Canadians. He and his friends drove a Mercedes to a bridge and they then swapped the car for a camera and continued their journey on foot until they reached freedom.
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Spatial Coverage
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Germany
Great Britain
Netherlands
Poland
England--Lincolnshire
Germany--Oberursel
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Poland--Żagań
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
1945
83 Squadron
aircrew
Blenheim
Dulag Luft
escaping
Hampden
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Cranwell
RAF Hemswell
shot down
Stalag 8B
Stalag Luft 3
the long march
training
wireless operator / air gunner
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/746/10747/AColemanTE170914.2.mp3
98c259c76f1de8123bd63c1d8a07a448
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Coleman, Thea
Theadora Erna Coleman
T E Coleman
Theadore Tielrooy
Description
An account of the resource
Two items. An oral history interview with Theadora Coleman (b. 1933) and a memoir. She grew up in The Hague and was a recipient of Operation Manna.
The collection was catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-09-14
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Coleman, TE
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
TC: To be awkward.
CB: That’s ok.
TC: Because I’m going to start with that one.
CB: Ok. That’s fine.
TC: I’ve already —
CB: My name is Chris Brockbank and today is the 14th of September 2017 and I’m in Rugby with Thea Coleman. And she was in Holland during the war because she’s Dutch and she’s going to tell us her story. So, what are your earliest recollections of life, Thea?
TC: Very very happy childhood with a fantastic family around me. And we were so close it was really super. I had already a brother and a sister. They were already born. One was born in ’22 and the other in ’24. So they were quite a bit older. So that was for me rather nice. But to them I was a pest [laughs] you know. I pinched their roller skates and their things but when I was a bit older. But we had a very happy family. Yeah.
CB: And what did your father do?
TC: He was an accountant. Eventually.
CB: And where did you live? Where did the family live?
TC: In the Hague.
CB: Yes. Ok. And what sort of house was that?
TC: Well, first of all there was this house and then before long when I was a bit older, about four maybe we moved to the place that I’ve just shown you here with the beautiful view.
CB: That was on the outskirts was it?
TC: That was on the edge. Well, it was overlooking the park. As far as you could see it was a park and eventually when Rotterdam was bombed we could see it burn at the horizon. So, yeah. It was quite, quite a place.
CB: So moving house meant moving school, did it?
TC: Well, I didn’t go to school before.
CB: At all.
TC: No. Because I had to go from this place. Find school. Now and again I got a lift on a bike because it was quite a way to walk but for the rest that was.
CB: And you enjoyed your schooldays.
TC: Yes. I think I, from what I can remember but there was so much going around or going on around me that, well school was just taken as a matter of whatever.
CB: So, you were born in 1933.
TC: Yeah.
CB: The war started in 1939.
TC: ’40 in Holland.
CB: Yeah. Ok.
TC: That was, that has a story actually.
CB: Ok.
TC: That is very interesting because that is, if I may I would like to start with the story about a Peace Palace that was Alexander the 2nd’s, Czar Alexander. He was so fed up with all the money waste on the wars that took place in the beginning of the century that he wanted to do something about it and had the idea of building a palace. A Peace Palace. And Carnegie, this started I think in 1907. His idea. And Carnegie said, ‘Right. I’ll, I’ll finance it.’ He chose Holland because Holland was a peaceful country. And the, all the countries contributed something towards it. Like Britain contributed the gardens. Switzerland. Italy, I think it was the marble. And so every country got together with bits and pieces. Then eventually then it was opened exactly the date it says there. What was it? The —
Other: Here you are.
TC: Yeah. August the 28th 1913 the Palace was opened. International Court of Justice. Everything was in there. And what happens? Within a year we had the Second World War. Wasn’t that ironic? So, this is really not a very good start for the peace. But nevertheless, then let me get my story back.
CB: I’ll just stop for a mo.
TC: Yeah.
[recording paused]
TC: Now, then we get in 1933 we get Hitler. So that is, he was very war minded and of course in those days you had better weapons. There were aircraft and what have you. So then there was war coming up on, in 1940. But Holland, and I forgot to just mention that before during the First World War Holland was neutral. And they didn’t want anything to do with the war. So the second time Holland said no. We want to be neutral again. Not in the German’s point of view because they said that they wanted Holland to capitulate and Holland refused. So that went on and on and on. And then you get here fortunately later on document of my sister where she describes the time between the two wars. How socially it was hard work although Holland was, had been neutral they had a difficult time of making ends meet. There were no social services or anything like that. So what we had that is very important. We had to have a lodger. And this lodger eventually appeared to be Nazi minded. Because that was another thing that was happening all around. You see the Dutch were a bit afraid from, you know, what is Hitler up to? And we better be on the winning side than on the losing side. So, therefore this fellow who happened to be a lodger that was Nazi minded also we had neighbours who were. It was called NSP. You know. National Socialists. So we were already from knee high told, ‘Keep your mouth shut. Don’t say anything and be very very careful. And be aware. Never tell them anything.’ Because you couldn’t trust them. So that was the situation that happened in the beginning of 1940 when Germany said, ‘Right. We want you to capitulate.’ And the Dutch said no. So what they did was they threatened with bombing Rotterdam. And they flattened Rotterdam, you know. Pretty severely. You can see here [pause] you see. And then the Germans said, ‘Ok. We’ll give you two hours. You capitulate or else all the other cities in Holland will go like this.’ So they were, unfortunately they were blackmailed and they had to capitulate. There was no way out. So that was a rather a shame because in the meantime they were also very busy. You know, like we had them on the coast a beautiful pier where you could visit. That was an obstacle. So that had to go. They built bunkers. Well, they were absolutely amazing you know. And then on also outside. No. There’s not a picture here. Where they had mines. Oh, it was so, although we always went lovely you know to the beaches and we had the super youth it was all gone for a burton because it was all mined. And as I say there was Rotterdam was here. We could see it burn. This was rather nice because this is a park where kids could have a plot of land where they could grow vegetables. It was rather nice. But as I say, but oh gosh and that was really my first reaction. My first memory. Looking out on the balcony and then these aircrafts. German aircrafts. Because it was still not officially capitulated. Capitulated. They would dive bomb and drop parachutes. It was really a frightening situation where people were getting frightened to such an extent that some thought that we had better be on their side. Which was not very favourable was it? So, there you are. Then, as I say I had Willie’s memories how she then describes. It’s in Dutch unfortunately. I think I will go and translate it. Where she describes the situation of fear. Short of money. You didn’t really know what was going to happen. You saw all these aircrafts. So that was really physically the frightening bit but also as fun because if there was a bomb thrown then the windows would shatter. So we taped them with Sellotape or whatever and it was quite an exercise because it was artistic. You know, to try and preserve the windows that you wouldn’t sit in the cold. Yeah. Now, let me just —
CB: What you might call practical artistic solutions.
TC: That was definitely it. Yeah.
CB: We’ll pause for a moment.
[recording paused]
CB: Ok. Fire away.
TC: Hitler.
CB: The invasion. Yeah.
TC: Yeah. Hitler, in ’33 he was very war minded. And then you get the invasion in 1940. Incidents with mines. Complaints. Spies. And then in April, oh God the fear. You know. You were so scared. And then on the 10th of May Germany attacked Rotterdam. That was on the 10th of May. Without a warning. Nobody knew about it. And then they were given two hours to give in but the problem was when they sent the letter they didn’t just accept it. They said, ‘Hey, hang on. Who wrote this letter? Where does come from?’ So that was delay. And although the two hours were given they didn’t give the two hours. They took less to just flatten Rotterdam completely. Yeah. So, Rotterdam destroyed and Holland had to capitulate. In other words, other words the other cities would have the same fate. Not very nice. So, life goes on. My brother goes to school. He is ten years older than I am so he had a job given when he was about seventeen eighteen. And then of course they said, the Germans said, ‘Hang on. We want you in the army.’ So he had to be signed up. So he did go to have the interview and he came back in a uniform. One of these little [unclear] things with a little tassel I thought was wonderful. And then of course he would be called up and go to Germany which of course was the last thing he wanted. And that petrified my mother. Willie, she was two years younger than he was. She studied hard at school, you know. She went to the Grammar School and eventually she got a job at the factory that belonged to the Jews but then was taken over by the Germans and, so she worked there as a secretary which was useful. Not Germans because later on as the war goes on my father finds there a place to hide. So that was useful. My brother meantime, well, you know he had his uniform and he was called up. We took him to the tram and he said goodbye. My mother cried her eyes out and off he went. And nobody knew he didn’t go. He went into hiding. Nobody knew except my father and Willie. Willie knew as well. I didn’t. So later on, during as time goes on they said, ‘Well, we have a surprise for you,’ and I saw him [laughs] He was hiding not so very far from where I, where I then was living. Yeah. So that was — I’m sorry. I’m getting a little bit of a muddled story I reckon.
CB: That’s alright.
TC: Can you select?
CB: We will stop just a mo.
TC: Yeah.
[recording paused]
CB: What was your brother doing do you think? Or do you remember? When he was in hiding.
TC: I can’t remember. He had, he was with a family with two other chaps of his age. And maybe they did some farming or whatever. But I know that at one stage the house was encircled by Germans and he escaped through a toilet window. Fortunately there was a cornfield so he disappeared in the corn field. But the two other chaps they were arrested. Whether they survived I don’t know. You see that was another thing that you had to get used to. Sometimes you would go on a walk. One day we went on a walk near the prison and suddenly we were stopped and five young chaps came out. And they were executed. And we had to watch it. I mean those sort of things is unimaginable. What you had to as a kid had to absorb really.
CB: This is an important point. And could you just describe how that happened? So, you were stopped. Then what? How did they do this execution?
TC: They just set them against the wall and shot them. And we had to watch. We had to stand there and watch. There was no way of hiding or running away. No. Otherwise you would be the next.
CB: So after they shot them then what happened?
TC: I don’t know whether I can remember that one because you were so absolutely numbed by the occasion. That they were just picked up and taken inside.
CB: And when you got home what did you do?
TC: Cry. And try to forget. And my parents were very good because they were trying to, you know distract your attention and, with other things. Play a game or whatever. Yeah. And, and this was all physical. This had nothing to do with food yet. Because there was another thing. The Dutch are very very careful because they were always thinking well, you never know. You never know. So they started to preserve food. Bottle it and what have you. We were always trying to save the food for, for whenever. And the same with clothing and so on. And even in the, from the government point of view you know they were trying to store. It was really store. And then of course the Germans said you are not allowed to store any more. So it had to be done secretly. So, you know then this ideal if you need it that it is there. But we had to hide so you know we lost all the stuff that we had preserved. Somebody else ate it [laughs] Yeah. So, I don’t know.
CB: We’ll stop there for a mo.
TC: Yeah. Yeah.
[recording paused]
TC: Do you want food or what?
CB: Yeah. No. We’ll just carry on more with the living at the time.
TC: Ok.
CB: Once you —
[recording paused]
TC: When this particularly pro-Nazi lodger left the house was open for people come and go. So we always had visitors. The beauty of it was that people didn’t think it was unusual that we had lodgers and that was a fantastic cover. So now, this particular time we are getting Willie she has been very busy getting, because we have rations to supply these people with rations. To find accommodation for them or you know really generally looking after them and finding places for them to stay. And so we were virtually called a through house. Well, then also people above us, you know, going up the stairs. The flat above they, he was a policeman and they also got involved. So it was our family and those two and we had just coming and goings. Comings and goings. And then one day we got a family with three boys. One was about my age. One was my brother’s age. Three boys. They were Jews. Because then suddenly the whole war started to change because it became anti-Jew. And that was one of the worst decisions that ever could have made. Been made. Anyway, Willie was very very busy with, you know trying to find them. Anyway, this particular couple came with their three boys. Fred, the eldest, was my age. He stayed with us permanently. The middle brother he went to my aunt. And the youngest went to my grandfather. Unfortunately, and Willie was always on the, on her bike and finding things and she has an awful lot of information. And one day she heard that the younger boy, Fritz with my grandfather that the Germans were after him or whatever. You know, they, they had the German attention was on that house. So Willie went to my grandfather and said get him in to cloister. He said, ‘Ok. Tomorrow.’ But that was too late because at lunchtime this four year old, he was kidnapped out of my grandfather’s garden. Taken to Auschwitz. Never came back. So you can imagine that was what my grandfather must have felt. Absolutely horrendous. So, yeah. That, that went on and as we say the other boys, you know. That is Fred. He is with us. He went on a holiday in a cow’s stables. The cows were outside and we got fresh straw. So that was rather quiet and, and a treat. And then here somewhere we have [pause] Oh, there’s my father with, I’ve got that there. His false passport. Oh, and here’s Wim. My brother. We didn’t know and I was told, ‘You’re going to see a visitor today.’ Somehow. And that was him. The first time after all those years that I actually met him when he was hiding there. Then he told the story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. I can still remember that one. And this, I have to go to a Children’s Home. This is coming later. First, see if I can find the boys. Sorry about that [pause – pages turning] There’s Wim. Oh, yeah. Here we are. Here is the middle boy on the lap of a German. Fancy that. That was, but that is again. I hope you stay another week.
CB: It’s interesting that these pictures were taken in the war.
TC: Yeah.
CB: So there was no restriction on picture taking at that time if the German is in that picture.
TC: No. No. That is very true. No. Because, well this is [pause] yeah. Now, I I think I’m now going to skip to — is it a bit higgledy piggledy or not?
CB: I’ll just stop for a mo.
TC: This is —
CB: At the back we’ve got a drawing.
TC: Yeah.
CB: Right.
TC: That is the bug tug. The tug bug that is the German. And where you look at his picture his arms and legs are like a swastika.
CB: Oh right.
TC: And he is emptying Holland of all the goodies that Holland, that the Dutch had tried to preserve and hide for just in case for a rainy day.
CB: So in this cartoon he’s got hanging on him all sorts of things that he has requisitioned.
TC: Yeah. Exactly.
CB: Yes. Right.
TC: Yeah. Yeah.
CB: Ok. Stopping again.
TC: Right.
[recording paused]
CB: We’re just looking at a candlestick.
TC: Yeah. That was from one of the Jews who hide, hid in to our, in our house as well.
CB: Yes.
TC: And she said to my father, ‘Look, you know I have hidden the Menorah in the garden. I’ll show you where it is. If anything happens can you dig it up?’ She never came back from Auschwitz. So my father dug it up and I’ve got it. So —
CB: An amazing bit of history.
TC: Yeah. And very [pause] and you look at it and you think not everybody was as lucky as I was. That is the thought that goes behind it, isn’t it? Yeah. Now, and then of course we get the [pause] Yeah. Before anything else can I just have quickly then we can put this one away.
CB: Ok. We’re looking at a photo album.
TC: Yeah.
CB: Yes.
TC: And then just to show, this was the house I was born and this was just to show the love that comes out of the photos and the absolute fantastic childhood I had with a lot of fun.
CB: Yes.
TC: My father put me in a waste paper basket and things, you know [laughs] But yeah, I, when you look back this is so important that you see how happy. This is an uncle of mine. He was a fantastic piano player. And this is just to reminisce of a happy childhood. This is again the balcony with that house there. Here I go to school. Very happy at school.
CB: This is the green album we’re looking at.
TC: Yeah. That is me getting a bit —
CB: Dressed up.
TC: Dressed. I’m a bit older. Going out on a holiday camp. That was possible.
CB: Where were the holiday camps?
TC: That was central Holland.
CB: Right.
TC: Yeah. Yeah. And then my brother is born in 1939. And then we are getting here a series of photos of the war. Here is my mother. You can see how old she looks. Attacks from the Germans. There again. The pier. You’ve just seen that one and the other one. And going on holiday in, at the farm. But still —
CB: And where was the farm that you went on holiday?
TC: Barneveld.
CB: How far is that?
TC: That is near Arnhem.
CB: Right.
TC: Yeah. And then you see we had beach walks. We could go and walk on the beaches.
CB: Yeah. This is all before the war.
TC: All before, well at the beginning of the war.
CB: Yeah.
TC: Because now we are getting to, that’s why I wanted to get rid of this album.
CB: Yes.
TC: To [pause] Oh, this is me a bit.
CB: I think, just to clarify the point Holland was neutral when the war started. In the early stages. And it wasn’t until the Germans invaded it in May 1940 that it became, that the war started in Holland.
TC: Yeah.
CB: Although in other, in Britain it had started in September 1939.
TC: Oh yeah. No. No. This was the 10th of May wasn’t it?
CB: Yeah.
TC: That I said.
CB: Yeah.
TC: The 10th of May.
CB: Yeah. So, we’ll stop there for a mo.
TC: Yeah.
[recording paused]
TC: The government. You know, once Holland had capitulated the Queen went to England. Her family went to Canada. So this. And then you get the Atlantic Wall. That was in 1942. Now, that was completely haywire because you could hear the story. We had already people hiding and then we get here the family. He was a Jew. I forgot to say that. Wait a minute. She was a Jew and that were a couple visiting and then there’s my father. It was just a family gathering. Because what had happened with the Atlantic Wall. All the people within this [pause] where is it? Yellow line.
CB: Yes.
TC: They had to vacate their houses. The yellow line was about two or three miles wide.
CB: This is a map of Scandinavia and the continent showing the yellow line being the Atlantic Wall.
TC: That’s it. Yeah. That was the Atlantic Wall. The Germans hadn’t done that. Spain was neutral so that didn’t have to have a wall. But now you can see why Germany was so extremely keen for Holland to capitulate.
CB: Yeah.
TC: Because when they were neutral there was a gap. And the British and the Americans could enter.
CB: Yeah.
TC: And that was the one thing that Hitler was against. He wanted it hermetically closed.
CB: Yeah.
TC: So therefore it was essential that Holland had to be conquered. So that the line was continued. Now, within these two lines I had my grandfather and my aunt who lived near the coast in a beautiful place. And what happens? They had to get out of their house.
CB: Because of the exclusion zone that was the Berlin wall err the Atlantic Wall.
TC: The Atlantic Wall.
CB: Yes.
TC: Everybody had to be out.
CB: Yes.
TC: All the civilians —
CB: Right.
TC: Were not allowed to live there anymore. So you had your house and you had to go. Leave everything behind or, well what would you do with it? You know. It’s very difficult. Now, my aunt was very lucky. That’s another story. My aunt, and there’s my aunt and my grandfather. That’s not the best place.
CB: I’ll just stop a mo.
TC: Yeah.
[recording paused]
TC: We were so lucky. Is that the word? She was so lucky. To the west of Amsterdam, in the middle of nowhere she found this place.
CB: A house.
TC: The house, built in about 1934. Empty. So, obviously in you go. There was, there was nothing there. Later on we get a little bridge to get there over the ditch and so on. And yeah, that was fantastic. So then the Germans thought now that is nice. Let us have a few rooms in this house for us. And they said, ‘You must be bloody joking,’ [laughs] You see, eventually they get a little bridge there and they, they wanted in the house. And they said, ‘No. We have a shed. Listen. If you want accommodation you go stay in the shed and leave us alone.’ And we had a little terrace built and it was great. So, what did the Germans do? On this tree they hung a steel bar and that steel bar was an indication that if there was a raid they say, ‘Don’t worry about here. We are here. Nothing there. So you can carry on.’ So, we were safe in the lion’s den weren’t we?
CB: Yeah.
TC: So, yeah. That was, that was great. And the boys, my brothers amongst them this is middle boy of these three boys that —
CB: This is a picture with a German soldier.
TC: Yeah.
CB: With his arm around him.
TC: Yeah. Ironic. And the boys were, you know, given the helmet to play with and what have you. Yeah. But as I say they were in the shed and the shed was full of rats so it was just the right place for them. Yeah. This is just the by the by one.
CB: Right.
TC: That this, where you had the bicycle. Don’t have tyres on your bicycle because if you have the Germans confiscate it. Any bike with a tyre was a loss. So for miles and miles and miles even my mother had to travel by bike without tyres. That was [unclear] Yeah. So anyway that’s [ ] I thought I had a picture. If you give me one second. Can you manage?
CB: Now, one of the ways as I read it the Germans kept control was to have raids.
TC: Oh yeah.
CB: So, how did that work?
TC: Well, they would close the road. Nobody was to go in or out of their houses. They would enter your houses with the guns and they would go through every room. I can remember having to spend a couple of hours in between floorboards and being as quiet as possible because the Germans were walking on the, on the floor above you. So, do you see what I mean? The fright that was almost second nature. So eventually when I felt that I needed to write it down I wanted to get it off my chest really.
CB: So, just putting this in to context of your age. You were born in 1933. So by ’42, you were talking about earlier you were nine.
TC: Yeah.
CB: So in ’43 you were ten. So when the —
TC: Very aware of what went on. Yeah. Sorry.
CB: That’s ok. Yeah.
TC: Yeah.
CB: So, what was the reaction of families to these German raids?
TC: Fear. [laughs] And they would march through the streets. And then they would you know sing. They had songs. And one of the song was “Und wir fahren gegen Engeland.” “And we sail to England.” And then the people on the pavements watching them, they said, ‘Glug. Glug. Glug. Glug,’ in answer to that. In other words, ‘If you are going to England, drown.’
CB: Oh, I see. Right.
TC: And they were furious when people said that. You know, ‘Glug. Glug. Glug. Glug.’ You know, when they were singing that they were going to England. Marching up to England.
CB: And did they have a threatening approach to the public? The public in general?
TC: No. Not that I can —
CB: Or were they trying to be friendly?
TC: No. No. They were not friendly. It was just a different race. You know, this — we were told to stay away. Not say anything. We had to really be so careful, you know not to upset them because that was life threatening. So we were under very very high discipline not to say anything. Not to do anything. So, well, you had to abide by that.
CB: And when they did the searches of the houses did they confiscate people belongings? Or did they just —
TC: Themselves. People themselves. Oh, they would be marched out of the house if they thought you know were not you were of the wrong age or — oh yeah. People would. And that was also a sign. You saw these vans outside in the streets. And then I can still visualise it now where people were dragged into those vehicles and never be, in many cases never heard of again.
CB: What sort of people were they arresting?
TC: Anybody.
CB: And taking away.
TC: The wrong age.
CB: The wrong age being what?
TC: Military age, you know.
CB: Right.
TC: Old people they were not interested in. Unless you had an association with their enemy if you like. Or if you were a Jew. Oh, you were, then you were definitely out. Yeah. And, and that was very very difficult for me to to absorb really until I went to to Lincoln and I was teaching in Dogdyke. No. Tattershall. Was it Tattershall? Well, where ever it was and somebody said he was a veteran. They had a meeting with somebody who was going to give a talk and unfortunate they were let down. He heard my accent and he said, ‘Do you think you have a story to tell?’ I said, ‘By Jove, have I got a story to tell.’ And I was invited and it was a thundering success. And after that they wanted more and more and more. ‘Can you come to us?’ ‘Can you come to us?’ [unclear] You know how that goes. And then somebody said, ‘Do you know what? Why don’t you write it down?’ So when I moved here I thought, ‘Yeah. I’ll do that. I don’t know anybody so this is the ideal opportunity. I’ll start writing it down.’ That is, you know this one. And then a colleague of mine read it and he said, ‘Thea, that’s far too good. That has to be published.’ And they published it literally the same as this. So that’s how it came about.
CB: That’s what the book is.
TC: That’s what the book is.
CB: And what’s the title of the book?
TC: “Evading the Gestapo in Holland.” But here I just called it, “My story.”
CB: Yes.
TC: But it’s the same one.
CB: What was the — going back to your comment about people being carted out of houses. What was the reaction of the population to the Germans arresting and deporting people?
TC: Very little because they were so scared that if they would say anything they would go and join them. So you couldn’t say anything. But there must be so many people with still those memories in the back of their minds. Because there’s nothing worse than seeing somebody thrown in a van for [pause] well you couldn’t ask for law or rights could you? That was it. And often they were Jews. Yeah.
CB: You mentioned that up in the upstairs flat was a policeman. How did he manage his life working with Germans?
TC: Very carefully. Yeah. Very carefully. Yeah.
CB: Now, all occupied countries had their collaborators. In Norway they were called quislings. What was the title given to Dutch collaborators?
TC: I can’t think at the moment. That will come back.
CB: Ok.
TC: NSPer’s. Well, NSPer’s I suppose. National Socialists.
CB: Yes.
TC: He is an NSPer. Yeah. NSPer.
CB: Right. And did they have something distinctive that they wore so that the Germans didn’t worry them?
TC: Well, that was with one of the lodgers we had. He suddenly came with an NSP pin thing on his, so we knew that he was from the wrong side. Can you just stop it a minute?
CB: Yes.
TC: Because —
[recording paused]
TC: Do you want to read it? No. Do you want —
CB: So, now we’re —
TC: You —
CB: You tell us what we’ve got there.
TC: What the Hunger Winter —
CB: Yes.
TC: Was like.
CB: So when was that? When was the Hunger Winter? In 1944.
TC: Yeah. 1944.
CB: The end of ’44 was it?
TC: Yeah.
CB: Yeah.
TC: Well, there was [pause] yeah ’44. Here we are.
CB: Ok.
TC: What we didn’t have. No radio.
CB: Right.
TC: No electricity. No more gas. The first hunger fatalities. Twenty thousand people died.
CB: Of?
TC: Of hunger.
CB: Right.
TC: And ninety eight thousand were starvations. Or was it that? Yeah. Then what is to say?
CB: The bread.
TC: The bread rations. Yeah. No bread. Oh God, it was just gloop. No electricity at all. No gas.
CB: So, there were beggars on the streets.
TC: Oh yeah. I can remember when I was in a Children’s Home there was a dog. It had the dog bowl. And I had to look after the dining area. That was when I was in the Children’s Home. And the dog had better food than me. So I licked his food as if it was a dog. So they couldn’t see that I had eaten it. Can you imagine?
CB: Extraordinary.
TC: Yeah.
CB: And the dog belonged to who? The Germans or to the owner?
TC: No. No. That was from the house. But they were pro Germans anyway so.
CB: Right.
TC: Well, they had the German religion.
CB: So what type of Children’s Home was that? What sort of [pause] Were they orphans or what were they?
TC: Usually of parents who were missionaries in Africa and the kids couldn’t go with them. So they stayed in that home. So that was eventually where my brother found me a place. Ah, because now you can really get to the story about my father’s —
CB: Right.
TC: Go back to —
CB: Keep going.
TC: Yeah. Go back to the lodgers. We had a lodger and his name was Mr Somners. And Mr Somners was fantastic. We used to call him Mr Ringaling. He had gold rimmed glasses. And he had a secretary. She was a beauty. And she stayed with that policeman upstairs. And then suddenly they decided they loved one another and they would like to live together. So they decided then that he would move with the girl but the Germans got hold of that and they arrested her mother. And they said to her, ‘If you play,’ Mr Ringaling, ‘Mr Somners, into our hands we’ll free your mother.’ So they made an appointment, these two at the Square in the Hague. And she said, ‘Well, the one I kiss is the man, and — ’ Because she had to choose between her mother and her lover. So she, the moment that she kissed him he got arrested there and then. And so did she. And then they were taken to the Gestapo headquarters and then Mr Somners walked in. They got a fright because amongst the Germans were Resistance workers undercover. They jumped on their bike and they went to all the houses they could remember and when it was 9 o’clock in the morning there was my mother. I was at school and she said, they said to my mother, ‘You get that child and out of the house now. You haven’t got time to pack or anything like that. Five minutes. Out.’ So she did. When I came back from school at lunchtime, because in Holland you don’t stay at school you always go home, there was nobody in. The house was already then confiscated. And then what I found out from Willie here what Mr Somners did and also consequently my father. They were involved in smuggling Jews to Spain. Or for that matter to Norway. I think. Yeah. Those two. So, and they recognised him by his teeth afterwards and she was [unclear] to death. And her mother never heard of any more. Also died. So you can imagine that was for us suddenly the end. You know. I come from school. Then what do you do with a girl of my age? So Willie took me by the hand and she had just been confirmed by a vicar so she went to him and she said, ‘I’m stuck with her. What do I do?’ So he said, ‘Well, leave her with us for a fortnight and then we’ll see what we can do.’ But the problem was when we went to church people would say, ‘Who’s that kid?’ And then I overheard somebody saying, ‘This is a child of a family on the run.’ Well, I was adult there and then. I matured. There was no childhood for me anymore. That was it. So I, and then I went from the vicar. He had two girls who ran a farm so he took me to them. One was a teacher and one was a nurse so at least I got eventually a little bit of education. And then of course they had the mill next door with seven kids but I was not allowed to play with them. Then they got diphtheria so that was danger. Out. So then I went to an egg farmer and I’ve never seen so many eggs being processed. Processed. And I didn’t stay there for very long either and then eventually I, Wim, my brother he was then discovered as being about and he said, ‘Well, I am here. Very close to a Children’s Home. Try it.’ So that is where I went. And thanks to my brother, you know. As I say, you know he just carried on. And I went to the Children’s Home. But then of course my brother, my father was then also being spotted, you know through this arrest of this Mr Somners. So he had to find [pause] Can you just switch it off a minute?
[recording paused]
CB: We’re talking about your father.
TC: Talk about my father. My father had then been given a new name. [unclear] . My brother, my little brother lived with my mother. Sometimes they met with my father as well. Not very often. And then Hans had to say, ‘I’m not Hans Tielrooy. I’m Hans [unclear].’ He said, ‘That’s not my name.’ So he became a danger and had to go. So, but then my father had a new passport. Where again the RAF came in useful with the Peace Palace because behind the Peace Palace was a huge villa with all the ins and outs of the population of Holland. You know. Register Centre. And they were asked to flatten it and they did. And that is where people like my father finally had now a chance to have a new passport. And that’s it. And the beauty of it is you see he puts a pair of specs on. His hair is slightly different. And then he, yeah he was well you can see he was really very scared but the beauty is his date of birth could not be traced because they made him a false passport with his birth on. Birthplace Surabaya in Indonesia. Because we were at war with Japan and they couldn’t check it. So at least he had a little bit of freedom of moving about. Very precious this. Yeah.
CB: We’ll just stop there a mo.
[recording paused]
TC: Heavily involved.
CB: So your sister Willie was ten years older than you.
TC: Yes.
CB: So her perspective was quite different and she was more mature. So what was her position?
TC: She was very very heavily involved in the Resistance. Together with my father as well. I didn’t know. Neither did anybody else in the house know that in this Mr Somner’s room was a German uniform. Yeah. But it has, but Willie has used it and she got somebody out of prison in that uniform. So a young chap that otherwise would have probably been executed or whatever. But in the end, as I say she was so heavily involved that Queen Wilhelmina invited her with about twenty other Resistance youngsters and she was invited to stay in her palace for about nine months to recuperate. And I can remember going through the gardens saying, ‘Oh, Willie, that’s your room.’ [laughs] Yeah. Yeah. That was quite a crown on the [pause] jewel on the crown or whatever you call it and, yeah.
CB: How did she come to be in a position where the Queen invited her to do this?
TC: Oh, that’s a difficult question actually. I haven’t thought about that. That must have been from the group that she was working with for the Resistance that they recommended her. Or that there must have been something like that.
CB: So, what sort of recuperation? She would have been short of food but mentally was she exhausted?
TC: I think that that was the case. Yeah. Yeah. She was a very intensive person. Yeah. And Queen Wilhelmina obviously. Even though she lived in England she decided with the Arnhem business to go on to make sure that the Dutch went on strike with the railway. And that made the Germans so angry that they’d made the worse, the war worse. But they weren’t. Oh, here it is. Look. Here. They, she invited and strike and they said, ‘If you strike it will only bring horror to yourselves.’ But they carried on because again with this army lot, Arnhem lot, she because there was so much Resistance that the Germans didn’t get through to drop the food because they said, ‘Is it really food you’re going to drop or is it bombs and people?’ And then eventually, very late in the day did they get permission. I think it is the 29th of April. Well, you can imagine.
CB: Let me just stop you a mo. Just to put this in to context we’re now talking about later. At the end of the war.
TC: Yeah.
CB: What is termed over here Operation Manna.
TC: Yeah.
CB: And so the RAF and the Americans dropping food. And that’s what you’re talking about now.
TC: Yeah. Yeah.
CB: So —
TC: And there was also —
CB: What was the date it started? 28th of April 1945.
TC: It could be. Yeah.
CB: Right.
TC: I don’t know. I have —
CB: But you were saying about the German’s reaction.
TC: Yeah. Because they were dead against the RAF flying over to drop food and they said we will give you a channel and this is the channel that they were allowed. If they were slightly out they would be shot dead. Shot down. And here are the areas where the food drops would take place. The red is from America and the other ones are with the RAF.
CB: So what were they dropping? What sort of things were they dropping?
TC: Gee whizz. This you saw. You sort it out. Look.
CB: Yeah.
TC: This is one drop.
CB: Right. So that. This is a photograph of a field.
TC: Yeah. Near Rotterdam.
CB: And it’s bags. And so the challenge with the bags was whether they would burst.
TC: Some did.
CB: On landing.
TC: Some didn’t. And then of course they needed so many people to collect it all. And do you know nobody stole. Everybody was starving hungry. Nobody. It was all centred at the place where then it was properly distributed. Which I think is admirable because if you were starving hungry well — you eat. Well, like me eating the dog food.
CB: How was the food distributed after it was collected? Was your father involved with that?
TC: I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t think so but it was all done from a central area. You had to queue. Oh God. When, for the Swedish bread the Germans stopped that. We sometimes queued for two and a half hours. Two or three hours for one loaf of bread.
Other: God.
TC: And it was worth it because you were so, so hungry. And as I say I was so underfed that they had to spoon feed me with a teaspoon. Hans, when we came out of the Children’s Home, Hans, my brother, he had frozen feet. And I was, well near death really. So as I said then and that was [unclear] where Willie had her first job. But originally it was from a Jewish barrel maker and that is where my father then found refuge when he needed it after, obviously he was looked for. When he was more or less after this incident of the [pause] Yeah.
CB: So what we’re talking about here is the western part of Holland.
TC: Yeah.
CB: Which had been bypassed by the allies as they moved — North Holland and into Germany and the population was starving. At what stage did they shortage food really start to bite?
TC: That started already quite early. Here, you see this is the last bit that was still being occupied that because this of Holland was already liberated.
CB: Yes. The eastern side and the south.
TC: And then of course you get Arnhem.
CB: Yeah.
TC: The big battle of Arnhem with the disasters of that one. And then. Yeah.
CB: As they pushed past that.
TC: Twenty two. Twenty two thousand people died. And nine hundred and eighty thousand were classed as malnutrition and I was one of them.
CB: Yeah.
[pause]
CB: So this is September 1944 that the Arnhem experience took place. But this drop of food is six months after that in April.
TC: Yeah. Indeed. Yeah. There’s the battle of Arnhem. Twenty two thousand dead. Back to [pause] why did I? Oh, I don’t know what that is. Obviously, you read that too.
CB: So my question really is that the distribution of food had already become difficult.
TC: Oh yeah.
CB: But when did it become extremely serious? Do you remember?
TC: That must have been, oh [pause] the year before, I reckon. Yeah. Because when did I leave the Children’s Home? [pause] September ’44. Yeah. That is when it really started to bite.
CB: As the west of Holland was isolated by the allied forces pressing on past the western part of Holland.
TC: Yeah. Yeah.
CB: We’ll stop there just for a mo.
[recording paused]
CB: The cooking.
TC: On this tin.
CB: Doing the cooking.
TC: Yeah.
CB: Yeah. So what’s the tin?
TC: The home-made tin. A plaster tin. You know, the plaster was inside. You just —
CB: Yes. But what did you put in it to cook to create the heat?
TC: A bit of wood.
CB: Yes. But where did you get the wood from?
TC: Find it everywhere. Tiny little bits of wood in [pause] well anywhere. Maybe in the shed or — but they were no bigger than so.
CB: Yeah. And did you increasingly then have to forage around for wood to burn because it must have run out in the local area?
TC: Oh yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
CB: So what did you do then?
TC: We looked for it. Go for walks.
CB: Did you go out in parties of walking?
TC: Yeah. Or look in the sheds. Anything that would burn you made to size and then burned it in that.
CB: Yes.
TC: I wish that I had bought one. A cousin of mine has got a real one.
CB: Oh right.
TC: Yeah.
CB: And then no electricity so how did you see in the night?
TC: You didn’t.
CB: In the evenings.
TC: You didn’t. No radio. Nothing.
CB: No candles.
TC: No. No. No. Candles were very scarce. Begging for food.
CB: So, tell us about the food. How did you get hold of food?
TC: You didn’t. You, you queued for hours if there was any in the shops. But there were no more potatoes. The only one was stinging nettles, tulip bulbs and sugar beets.
CB: So, how did you cook those stinging nettles?
TC: Well, they were mostly raw. You know. You put it in hot water and then it softened it a bit.
CB: Yes.
TC: And, and then in the end well you just didn’t eat. Nothing to eat.
CB: You mentioned begging. So how did that work?
TC: Knock on the door. ‘I’m hungry.’
CB: So children did the begging or did —
TC: No.
CB: Adults did it as well.
TC: Adults did. Children didn’t come in to this at all. No. Yeah. Even first food aid from Sweden. That was white bread.
CB: So this was the beginning of 1945.
TC: That was February. Yeah. Yeah. Because that bread, I’ve never seen white bread like the Swedish bread. It was whiter than white. Amazing. And then of course the Germans stopped that one.
CB: So where did that come in from? How did that come to Holland? Did it —
TC: By train or —
CB: Somehow through the German lines did it? Or did it —
TC: It must be —
CB: Come in by sea.
TC: No. No. Certainly not by sea. No. First aid from Sweden must have come by road.
CB: Through Germany.
TC: Through Germany. Yeah.
CB: Right.
TC: Because the Germans had to agree to that and they did.
CB: Right.
TC: And then the Germans were food dropped because they were afraid that they could be combined with bombs. Which is logical.
CB: This is the RAF.
TC: Yeah.
CB: Supplying. Yeah.
TC: And the Operation Manna starts there. Oh God, that was — I can still see them. Oh, you could see the, they flew that low you could see the pilot’s face. Oh, that was a miracle. Absolutely fantastic. Yeah. And that was so interesting when we met last year or the year before when you could say, ‘Well, this was our reaction what was your reaction?’ And they all cried.
CB: This was in Lincoln when some of the aircrew were there.
TC: Yeah. Yeah. They were so impressed and like we didn’t know in how far they would, the Holland has so many flat roofs so we could spread the flag. And the flag was forbidden but we put flag on. Thank you, Tommies. Or we just waved. Oh gosh. Yeah.
CB: The man I interviewed the other day said how the Germans were shaking their fists at his aircraft flying at a hundred and fifty feet.
TC: I can well imagine. But we were kissing.
CB: Exactly. And he then went on to the Dutch people waving. Yes.
TC: Really? Oh yeah. And sometimes you really took a risk. Yeah. And that was the same when we had the Liberation in Amsterdam. I’m going a bit —
CB: That’s alright.
TC: Higgledy piggledy. And so when the war was declared finished they thought hooray. So the heart of Holland is the Dam in Amsterdam. But everybody gathered together and they were all standing there, you know, pale and hungry and very tightly together because the air force err now the allies were coming in their tanks. And when they came around the corner full of flowers and girls and what have you and the whole of the mass of people went berserk with hooray. We had all dyed some pieces of material in orange or whatever. But the big buildings around this square there were still German soldiers on there.
CB: On the roof.
TC: On the roof. And what did they buggers do? They shot on the main, on the people. Absolutely. When we asked, ‘What did you do? Why did you do it?’ And they said, ‘Well, why didn’t you cheer like this when we arrived?’ Can you imagine? The nerve. And the tanks were immediately closed and, oh that was horrendous and we all had to fled, flee down side roads. And there were nineteen people killed. Yeah. And that was Liberation. ‘Why didn’t you cheer like this for when we arrived?’ How big headed can you get? You never learn do you?
CB: What happened to them? So clearly they survived. So they weren’t killed by the Dutch.
TC: I wouldn’t be surprised if that didn’t happened on the quiet. Yeah. Because they, they, well they couldn’t stay there could they?
CB: No.
TC: They were still the enemy. And we had the liberators coming in. Oh, I can still remember this. That was frightening. And we were standing all like this because it was packed. Absolutely overpacked. Amazing how little flares of —
CB: Memory.
TC: Memories come back.
CB: So you were still starving effectively.
TC: Oh yes. Yeah.
CB: How did the food get distributed then? At the time of the celebration was there, were there food trucks with the tanks or did you get the food later?
TC: Later. Yeah. It was, it was a slow coming of food. Yeah. Yeah.
CB: And that was distributed by the local authorities.
TC: Shops. Yeah. Shops.
CB: Through the shops.
TC: Through the shops. And you all had issues. You know. What do you call them?
Other 2: Ration.
CB: Ration cards.
TC: Ration cards. Yeah. Yeah. And with, and then you stand there queuing. Not just for ten minutes. Hours. Yeah.
CB: And how did society return to normal after that? If ever.
TC: With great difficulty. Yeah. But you know then once it was done and over with you know you all got together and put your shoulders on it and made the best of it.
CB: So, your family returned to your house.
TC: No.
CB: Right.
TC: No. Because our house there, that house there that was completely occupied because you very rarely owned a house. So it was always rented. So when we came back to the Hague my father was allocated this house through the Resistance. And that was a whacking big house. Fantastic. Until about six months after. There was a ring of the bell and she said, ‘This is my house. I’ve survived and I want my house back. So, we want you out.’ So that was another problem. So then the Resistance was still very very much active in that work and they found us this house that we lived in where you have been. And yeah, that was in [pause] that had been in an area that was evacuated for a long long time so there were no roads. No pavements. You know. That was all very, well pre-historic as it were.
CB: In the countryside this was.
TC: No. That was a part of the Hague.
CB: Oh, it was.
TC: Yeah. And that is of course where I went to school and so on. And that’s another thing. Talk about going to school. When we lived in that nice house there and this was still pre, after I had just been about five or six years of age.
CB: Before the war started.
TC: Yeah. Well, no. Yeah. But there was an awful lot of water. You know that house with the beautiful view? There was a lot of water about and Hans my brother he almost drowned in it. So, and Willie and Wim, my brother they had to take me before school to the park where there was a swimming pool because I had to learn to swim. And that was their task. To take me to the swimming pool regularly during the week. Every other day or so. To teach me how to swim. And I can still remember the lady who had ginger hair and her body was purple with cold because it was an open air one and but I learned to swim and once I could swim that was it. That was them finished. That’s another flare of —
CB: That’s alright. We’ll just stop for a mo.
[recording paused]
CB: So, thinking of the drops in Operation Manna. The dropping of the food and what was it? What — did you see that or did you just hear about it in other ways?
TC: Maybe in the distance but that was a, that is a little bit vague memory at the moment.
Other: Yeah.
TC: But I can remember once it was put to the central areas where it was distributed. There was the egg powder. Oh God the egg powder. Milk powder. Bread. All sorts of vegetables and, yeah stuff really to go into the larder. That is the stuff that was generally in the bags.
CB: So it was flour but was there baked bread as well?
TC: There was also baked bread. Yeah.
CB: Right.
TC: But very rare.
CB: Yes. Because it’s very bulky.
TC: Yeah. Yeah.
CB: And how did the population hear about the deliveries of these?
TC: Well, they either saw it or they knew where the Centres were and then you could go to the Centres. On your bike of course.
CB: Yes.
TC: Or walking. To collect your goodies.
CB: Yes. Yeah. Absolutely.
TC: And as I say sometimes there were little parcels, but from the pilots themselves who had wrapped it up for the kids.
CB: Really? Yeah.
TC: You know. Chocolate or sweets.
CB: So the delivery was in bags or was it in other items as well?
TC: All sorts. All sorts. It was in containers and bags and —
CB: Containers so it wouldn’t break.
TC: Yeah.
CB: Large.
TC: Yeah. Large. About that size. Yeah.
CB: Good. I think we’ll stop there for a mo. Thank you very much.
[recording paused]
TC: Even that’s true, and how much is still to think about. To remember.
CB: Yes. It’s an extra.
TC: At that time you just took it, well as a surprise. You couldn’t get over it. I mean, if you look at this you can see what sort of baggage.
CB: This is the picture of the dropping area.
Other: This is the drops. Yeah.
TC: That’s near Rotterdam. And they needed hundreds of people to collect it all. And they didn’t leave a scrap. They picked it all up. Nothing was wasted.
CB: And the Germans didn’t come and confiscate any of it.
TC: No. I don’t think they dared. Because by that time they knew that the game was up.
CB: Yeah. We’ll stop there. Thank you very much.
[recording paused]
CB: We can —
Other: We still want to record this don’t we?
CB: Now, we talked about a lot of things to do with the Operation Manna drops. We then went on to how the food was distributed.
TC: Yeah.
CB: We haven’t really talked about how it was consumed. Because people are not just undernourished. They’re actually starving. So there’s a danger in that. So how did you start eating when the food came?
TC: Because usually there was somebody in charge of a person who is that underfed that they, like for instance myself. When I came out of the Children’s Home they sent me to this place where my father originally hid and where Willie originally had her job where they made these barrels. You know, the Jewish firm that was taken over. Anyway, so they sent me there for about a fortnight before I was then joining the rest of the family in Amsterdam and she, the farmer’s wife next door she said, ‘Thea, come in the morning. I’ll feed you up.’ And then she would feed me on cream and things. And I stayed there a fortnight and was fine. So that was ok. And then we went to Amsterdam where of course again we were at a loss because you saw how busy that house of my aunt was in, outside Amsterdam. Willie, in the meantime hired a room in the middle of Amsterdam South with a Jewish family. And she hired a room because sometimes there was an opportunity, no a necessity for getting your breath back. So, and that was of course also in the Hunger Winter when you were outside trying to collect little bits of wood and things like that. So that is where we were then. In that room. And that was very very nice indeed because it was peaceful. We all got away from each other for a while because otherwise you were getting on each other’s nerves. Especially with my aunt falling ill. She could be course in her legs and in her neck and so on. It was just tubercular disease. So we were a little bit in the way then. And so now and again as I say we needed a breather. And Willie had particularly access to that. To that room. And yeah. I, that was, that was very nice and the people downstairs were fantastic, you know. She was a Jewish. And we had yeah happy times there. From there, well, then of course the Liberation that we went to the dam with all these people. Squashed together. There was no other way to call it but squashed together. Yeah.
CB: And how were the people feeling at that time?
TC: What did the people we hired from?
CB: No. The people that went together to Amsterdam. What did they actually feel about what was going on?
TC: They wanted to celebrate. There was liberty you know. And they, they wanted to well share the condemnation for the Germans. And then of course these. I can still them on the rooftop you know. With their guns still. That they didn’t prevent this by getting to them and saying, ‘Hey, give me your gun.’ That they just opened fire on them. Must have been a mad moment in their lives. Of frustration, or what I know, whatever. But it was and then of course as I say Liberation. Freedom. Yeah.
CB: You talked about some families being half Jewish. So, how were they handled during the war?
TC: They kept it quiet. You know. Not — and that was another thing. You see in the beginning they wanted everything up in the open. So the Jews were persuaded to wear a star with the word Jew on it. And they said, ‘If you wear that you’re safe from prosecution.’ That is an indication. Forget me. Isn’t it? Stupid. And people fell for things like that. Anything for easy going, you know. Getting out of awkward situations. And it was —
CB: It was the beginning of the learning curve about the German reaction to Jews.
TC: Yeah. And why would the Germans be so anti-Jewish? Maybe because of business because the Jews were better off than they were. You don’t know what’s behind it all because nobody would open up. But that, that’s the only thing you can do. That is to speculate as it were.
CB: You mentioned earlier about right at the end there were people eating. But there were some Jewish people there. How had they survived all that time?
TC: Just like everybody else.
CB: In hiding.
TC: Yeah. And hungry. Because there was nothing else. All you wanted to do was not to be arrested. Not to be shot. You know. Save your life.
CB: On a lighter note you were cycling without tyres. So —
TC: Oh, my numb bum [laughs] Oh God. At the end sometimes they had a little pillow to sit on but that, Oh God, I can still feel it [laughs]
CB: What did you carry on the bikes? Was it adults and children with shopping or clothes? Or what did you carry on bikes?
TC: Usually it was just to go from A to B. You know, to get somewhere because that was the only transport. There were no trams or buses or anything, trains. So the only way was a bike and if it had tyres you knew that would be confiscated and for the rest you didn’t go anywhere. And if you had to do some shopping I presume you would go walking because you wouldn’t dare. Well, like my mother you know she was laden and then the Germans said, ‘Thanks very much. Now you can go. We’ve got your stuff.’ It is unbelievable isn’t it? That they got away with it. Yeah.
CB: You mentioned school.
TC: Yeah.
CB: So how, how long did school continue?
TC: Oh God. Not very long because then there were days that they didn’t open. There were maybe one or two hours. And in the end, and then of course was the heating. So they had to close the schools. Oh, and that was another thing. You had staff. Suddenly some members of the staff disappeared. Why? Some of the kids disappeared. Why? Because they were hiding. You know they were obviously [pause] and then school was a dangerous place.
CB: So it wasn’t that the authorities had closed down the school.
TC: They did in the end.
CB: They did.
TC: They did in the end. They said, ‘Look. This can’t go on. We haven’t got the amenities. The money.’ And so then the schools closed and that is why the people in America admired me so for having worked the hours available. That I took so much advantage and courage out of them that they thought I needed a treat. And that was my husband.
CB: So you, you went to America to stay with friends.
TC: Yeah.
CB: How long did you stay there?
TC: About nine months.
CB: That’s in Texas.
TC: Yeah. Dallas —
CB: And then you went to Washington. Was it?
TC: Washington and New York. Because that lady amongst that lot living she had a nephew living there. So she went there. So she was there and I could visit her.
CB: What made you return to Holland from America?
TC: Well, because I needed a future for a job and I was not there for a permanent holiday. It was just a holiday and nothing else. And I was very grateful. Especially because they loved me so much for my courage.
CB: Indeed.
TC: Yeah.
CB: So you travelled back by ship.
TC: Yeah. The Nieuw Amsterdam.
CB: Right. And where did that go from and to?
TC: New York to Amsterdam.
CB: And who was on the ship? What? What —
TC: There was a contingent of RAF chaps who had just been to a course and they were dropped in England somewhere. The south.
CB: Which year are we talking about now?
TC: ’59. Thereabouts.
CB: Right.
TC: Yeah.
CB: Ok.
TC: And then I came to England. Got married in Hull in ’61. So that was about high speed I suppose.
CB: What was the significance of Hull?
TC: It was the only place where I could travel to easily from Holland.
CB: To see your boyfriend, then fiancé.
TC: Yeah. He was then in Lincolnshire somewhere. So, and then I taught in Hull and that is where we got married. And oh, I lived on the top floor somewhere in a — downstairs was the doctor’s surgery. And I lived upstairs in, in the room above.
CB: Yes.
TC: And, yeah.
CB: Then when you were married, where? Then when you were married where was your husband stationed?
TC: Driffield.
CB: Right.
TC: Yeah.
CB: And what accommodation did you have there?
TC: Quarters. Yeah. And then eventually, you know we moved and put a deposit on a house and so on. So —
CB: What other places did you get posted? Did he get posted to.
TC: St Athan. Oh God.
CB: You were in Coningsby or a while.
TC: Coningsby. St Athan. Where have I got that little envelope with all the ins and outs?
CB: I’ll just stop for a mo.
TC: Yeah.
[recording paused]
TC: Heathcote Road.
CB: Where? Where’s that?
TC: That is in [pause] oh God.
CB: Where? Where did you buy the house?
TC: The first house we bought. Fortescue Close in ’68. And we left there ’78.
CB: But was that in Lincolnshire?
TC: Yeah. It’s all Lincolnshire.
CB: Oh. It is. Right. And did you get, did he get a posting abroad?
TC: Yeah. Germany of all places. That is where she came from.
CB: What was that like?
TC: To start with a little apprehensive to say the least. But I spoke the language because obviously in Holland you learn French and German and English. So I could communicate. And we lived amongst the Germans and that was actually a very good therapy for realising they were not all bad. That was, that was usually —
CB: What was their reaction to the British? Because we’re talking about the 60s now are we? Or 70s?
TC: Well, as long as they paid. They were after money. It didn’t matter what they did. And they were not particularly so anti-British. Hey. Would you like this?
CB: Yes please. Thank you.
[pause]
CB: And so, when you were in Germany how long were you there and what did you do?
TC: Three years.
CB: Yes.
TC: And I also taught there.
CB: You did.
TC: Yeah. Yeah.
CB: On the school in the station.
TC: Yeah.
CB: Which station? Where were you stationed?
TC: Gütersloh.
CB: Right
TC: Yeah. That was a nice place. Yeah.
CB: And from there —
TC: England. Wales.
CB: Oh, St Athan.
TC: Speak Welsh.
CB: Yeah. That’s really well done, I thought. Yeah. And then your husband retired. What age did he retire from the RAF?
TC: Normal age.
CB: Yeah.
TC: Yeah.
CB: And then what job did he do after that?
TC: Then we got divorced.
CB: Oh.
TC: Yeah.
CB: Right.
TC: In fact, in between I married him twice.
CB: Right.
TC: [laughs] I’m an idiot. My sense of humour is wicked.
CB: It is but it’s good. Entertaining and generally admirable.
TC: Yeah. But it didn’t work.
CB: No.
TC: No. So —
CB: But you kept on teaching.
TC: Yeah. Right until ’94.
CB: So when you were divorced you were at Coningsby, were you? And then you —
TC: Yeah.
CB: Did you carry on teaching there?
TC: Yes. I have got here. That is the headmaster who said the school has rules.
CB: Oh yes.
TC: And I said, ‘Yes Nigel. I believe you.’
CB: But?
TC: I had my own way [laughs] But when you hear. When you read this I’m in seventh heaven. They couldn’t have praised me higher than this. This is the [pause] he says —
CB: This is the headmaster’s report.
TC: Yeah. I was a headmistress as well for a while [pause] Oh here. “I want you to picture a scene. A dark cold stormy night. The fierce wind was lashing the waves over the top of the dyke. The sails on the windmill were rushing around at a tremendous speed. Suddenly a piercing cry was heard and all went quiet. In England, across the water explosions and bright lights shot into the night to celebrate. Thea Coleman had been born [laughs] Ever since, in England fireworks have been lit off to celebrate her birthday on November the 5th. Little is known about Thea before she went to school but we do know she had a happy childhood.” Can’t have better than that can you? Yeah. So it goes on and on. And even the kids now they are still talking to me. They still phone me.
CB: Is that right?
TC: Yeah.
CB: Yeah. Even after all these years.
TC: Yeah.
CB: Where did you become your own headteacher?
TC: Just before he left. Before he came. I was replaced by him. And then in between I had [pause] it was only in here we were standing as it were.
CB: Yeah.
TC: And then there was this one. There’s Jim. Now, he took it from a different point. First, I thought I should begin in true Coleman’s style by side tracking because that’s what I like to do. A friend of mine is a jeweller. When buying an old item, discussing gem stones with him he explained the reason for cutting stones in the ways that they do. One reason is to make a stone catch the light and sparkle. Another reason, rather more subtle is to reflect light into the stone. Anyway, so he compares my person with a gemstone.
CB: Right.
TC: And then he sees me as a friend. And then as a teacher. And then as a colleague. Which is rather nice way of describing me.
CB: Yeah.
TC: And then —
CB: And this is your school report as a teacher.
TC: Yeah. As a pupil.
CB: Appreciation.
TC: Yeah. Which is, which I appreciate.
CB: Where was your last teaching post?
TC: Gee whizz. That was in [pause] Hell’s bells, that was here [pause] Because this one was written of my retirement. Where the hell was it? See, now that’s sometimes my memory goes a bit. How come [pause] gee whizz.
CB: I’ll stop just for a mo.
[recording paused]
CB: So your last post in teaching was at Coningsby.
TC: Yeah.
CB: And you retired at what age?
TC: ’94. ’33. What was it? Work it out.
CB: Yeah. Quite a few years. Sixty.
TC: Sixty.
CB: One.
TC: Sixty one.
CB: Yeah.
TC: That’s just about right.
CB: Yeah.
TC: Yeah.
CB: That’s very good. And you’ve got a couple of anecdotes there have you?
TC: Well, this is just a postscript out of my book.
CB: Yes.
TC: You know, afterwards you think like one memory that has been suppressed all this time is now ready to be put into words and to add to my story. On one of my many walks in Amsterdam with my father all pedestrians were stopped by soldiers. We were near a, near a prison. In retaliation of an assassinated German five young men came out and were lined up and executed and we had to watch. A vicar who looked at it from his window and praying for them was killed by a stray bullet. So that is one of the [pause] And then there is another one. I should have elaborated on a train journey to Hellouw, that’s where my grandfather lived, with my father. Fancy my fear when he told me, ‘Look, when soldiers enter the train and if I get arrested pretend you don’t know me. But make sure you take that suitcase with you.’ So those were, you know you were only little. Nine. Whatever. And then there is Fritz. I’ve told you about Fritz. The four year old taken by the Gestapo from my grandfather’s house. Devastated. The parents were so grateful for their safety for the other two boys and so that they planted a tree for my family in Jerusalem near the Holocaust Museum. And when I mentioned the crowd on the Dam with the Germans opening fire. Twenty nine people were killed. One soldier was asked, ‘Why did you do it?’ His answer was, ‘Why didn’t you cheer like this when we arrived?’ And then the house we were allocated that had been confiscated by the Germans from a Jewish family had been used as a prison. That’s the first house we came back to after the war. And when we lived in it a man came to the door to ask if his shoes were still there. He had escaped out of the window with the help of a sheet. There’s are just a couple of thoughts that I thought needed remembering.
CB: Yes. Thea —
TC: Especially with my memory going.
CB: Thea Coleman, thank you for a fascinating conversation.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Thea Coleman
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Chris Brockbank
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-09-14
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
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01:47:23 audio recording
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AColemanRE170914
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Civilian
Spatial Coverage
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Germany
Netherlands
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Netherlands--Rotterdam
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939
1940
1942
1944
1945
Description
An account of the resource
Thea Coleman was born in 1933 in Holland. She experienced the invasion of her country and the increasing restrictions. When walking once with her father they were forced to stand and wait while prisoners were brought out of prison and executed while they were forced to watch. Thea’s family were involved with the Resistance and she was forced to go into hiding with various people until she finally went to live in a Children’s Home. The RAF bombed the Registry in the town and so her father and others were able to change their identities and obtain new documents. The family hid Jewish people. One Jewish woman who was hidden by the family told them she had hidden the Menorah in her garden and to please dig it up if she did not return. She did not return and Thea still has this in her possession as a reminder of horrors of that time. Thea was so hungry that she ate the food from the dog’s bowl in the Children’s Home where she was living. Operation Manna saved her life because she was severely malnourished. When the people thought that Liberation had arrived they gathered at the Dam Square in Amsterdam. German soldiers were hiding on the rooftops and opened fire on the crowd killing and injuring a large number of civilians.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Julie Williams
anti-Semitism
childhood in wartime
faith
fear
heirloom
Holocaust
home front
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/368/10061/LDeytrikhA1381508v1.1.pdf
7a86e4150408629425043aa853221a9d
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Deytrikh, Andrew
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. An oral history interview with Wing Commander Andrew Deytrikh (1921-2016, 1381508, 111248 Royal Air Force), his log books and three photographs. After training as a pilot in 1941, Andrew Deytrikh flew Spitfires on 66 Squadron at a number of locations until July 1944 when he joined Vickers Armstrong as a production test pilot. After the war he served on 604 Squadron Auxiliary Air Force flying Spitfires, Vampires and Meteors. He finished his air force career as a wing commander air attache in Finland.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Andrew Deytrikh and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-04-26
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Deytrikh, A
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Andrew Deytrikh’s pilots flying log book. One
Description
An account of the resource
Pilots flying log book for Andrew Deytrikh, covering the period from 20 May 1941 to 1 February 1944. Detailing his flying training and operational flying. He was stationed at RAF Brough, RAF Montrose, RAF Grangemouth, RAF Portreath, RAF Zeals, RAF Ibsley, RAF Skeabrae, RAF Church Stanton, RAF Redhill, RAF Kenley, RAF Perranporth, RAF Hornchurch and RAF Southend. Aircraft flown were, Tiger Moth DH82, Master, Hurricane, Spitfire, Magister and Whitney Straight. He carried out convoy patrols, interceptions, army co-operation, scrambles, Fighter affiliation and bomber escorts with 66 squadron. Targets attacked, and bomber support targets were, Cherbourg, Caen, Abbeville, La Pallice, Amsterdam, Schipol Aerodrome, Courtrai, St Malo, Poix, Bryas, Gosnay, Beaumont-le-Roger, St Omer, Boulogne, Brest, Le Touquet, Brussels, Beauvais, Arras and Calais.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Mike Connock
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text. Log book and record book
Text
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Fighter Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Belgium
France
Great Britain
Netherlands
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Belgium--Brussels
England--Essex
England--Hampshire
England--Somerset
England--Surrey
England--Wiltshire
England--Yorkshire
France--Abbeville
France--Arras
France--Boulogne-Sur-Mer
France--Brest
France--Caen
France--Calais
France--Cherbourg
France--Gosnay
France--La Pallice
France--Le Touquet-Paris-Plage
France--Poix-du-Nord
France--Saint-Malo
France--Saint-Omer (Pas-de-Calais)
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Scotland--Angus
Scotland--Orkney
Scotland--Stirlingshire
England--Cornwall (County)
Belgium--Kortrijk
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1941
1942
1943
1944
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LDeytrikhA1381508v1
66 Squadron
aircrew
B-17
B-25
B-26
bombing
Boston
Flying Training School
Fw 190
Hurricane
Magister
Me 109
Me 110
Operational Training Unit
pilot
RAF Brough
RAF Hornchurch
RAF Kenley
Spitfire
Tiger Moth
training
Typhoon
V-1
V-weapon
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Mathers, Ronald. Album
Description
An account of the resource
45 page scrapbook of Squadron life and The Goodwill Tour to the United States by 35 Squadron in 1946. It includes photographs, newspaper cuttings, and programmes. The tour visited stations on both the East and West coasts of the United States and the airmen were entertained with visits to Hollywood.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SMathersRW55201v1
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-07-17
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Formation over Amsterdam and Queen Whilhelmina's Palace
Description
An account of the resource
Photograph 1 is of 12 Lancasters over Amsterdam. In the fore ground is a Dutch flag and a Union Jack. There are various buildings behind. It is captioned 'Fly Past in honour of Dutch Liberation Day 4th May 1946.' and underneath 'Formation over Amsterdam'. Photograph 2 is an oblique view of a large building and its grounds. It is captioned 'Queen Whilhelmina's Palace- but there's no one at home'.
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SMathersRW55201v10006
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Netherlands
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1946-05-04
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1946-05-04
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Two b/w photographs on a scrapbook page
35 Squadron
aerial photograph
Lancaster
-
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Title
A name given to the resource
Amsterdam [place]
Description
An account of the resource
This page is an entry point for a place. Please use the links below to see all relevant documents available in the Archive.
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Holiday Amsterdam and beach
Description
An account of the resource
Left page title 'Venice of the north, Amsterdam'.
Top left and middle - similar images of Joy and Stephen Dawson sitting on bench seats inside a canal viewing boat. Christine Dawson is standing on seat to the left and other people occupy seats in front and behind. Captioned 'Launch tour of canals'. On the reverse of first image 'Tourist launch, Amsterdam canals and harbour, Venice of the North'.
Top right - Stephen Dawson standing in a street with Christine Dawson on his shoulders. Building line street on the right with bicycles leaning against wall.
Bottom left - view of street with cars bicycles and people. In the background a water way with building on the far bank. Captioned 'Cafe view'. On the reverse 'View of Amsterdam from cafe window'.
Bottom right - Joy Dawson is sitting in the middle at a tea table feeding Christine Dawson on the right. On the left two women eating. Captioned 'Refreshments'. On the reverse 'Tea in Amsterdam'.
Right page.
Top left Joy Dawson and Christine Dawson with another woman seated at a table at an outdoor cafe. On the reverse 'Promenade Cafe at Schev'. 'Top right Stephen, Joy and Christine Dawson at the same table. On the reverse 'Family at Prom cafe'. Both captioned 'Promenade Cafe'.
Middle left - Christine Dawson lying on a sandy beach with a woman in dress kneeling to the left. Middle right and bottom - two images of Stephen and Christine Dawson lying on a beach behind a pile of sand. Captioned 'Sunny days'.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1952
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
Ten b/w photographs mounted on two album pages
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Photograph
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
PDawsonSR16010304, PDawsonSR16010305, PDawsonSR16010306, PDawsonSR16010307, PDawsonSR16010308, PDawsonSR16010309, PDawsonSR16010310, PDawsonSR16010311, PDawsonSR16010312, PDawsonSR16010313, PDawsonSR16010314, PDawsonSR16010315, PDawsonSR16010316, PDawsonSR16010317, PDawsonSR16010318, PDawsonSR16010319,
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Netherlands
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Netherlands--Hague
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1952
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Kroese, Frederik
Frederik Kroese
Frederik W Kroese
F W Kroese
F Kroese
Description
An account of the resource
Four items. An oral history interview with Frederik Willem Kroese (b. 1924), a memoir, a cartoon and an empty packet of V cigarettes. Frederik Kroese was a member of the Dutch resistance. He acted as a courier and helped airmen evade capture.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Frederik Kroese and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-08-29
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. Some items have not been published in order to protect the privacy of third parties, to comply with intellectual property regulations, or have been assessed as medium or low priority according to the IBCC Digital Archive collection policy and will therefore be published at a later stage. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal, https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collection-policy.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Kroese, FW
Language
A language of the resource
English
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Netherlands
Great Britain
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
RVDP: I am Ron Van de Put, IBCC volunteer, about to interview Mr Frederik Willem Kroese who took part in the resistance as a member of team oft hulp aan during the Second World War. Mr Kroese was, among other things, involved in making and disseminating fake IDs, secret messages, transporting arms and ammunition and helping aircrew escape from the Germans and cross the border to safety. Mr Kroese, thank you very much for agreeing on doing this interview. As a start could you tell us a little bit more about yourself?
FK: Yes. Thank you, Mr Van de Put. I was born in 1924 and when I was sixteen the war started in my country. I awake one morning in May 1940 when the bridge near my home was blown up and when the Germans came in. I was too young to do something at that moment but it was not so that from the first day the Germans were in the Netherlands everything was wrong. Every time it became a bit more worse. That there were things the Jews couldn’t do, as a people couldn’t do [railway man?] and so and so when the war went, got farther we more remarked that we had to do something and as a little group we couldn’t fight to Germans but what we could do was to make more — less safe the Germans in being in our country. And so, giving them little stitches. When I was in the third, third year of the war I got a message on Friday to report on Tuesday at the office with a small bag with clothes and toothpaste to go to work in Germany and that was, for me, the moment that I thought — no. That will not be. As you don’t know directly a place to dive, to hide yourself I first went to a friend who was sure as he was following a course for the school teachers he was safe not to be called up by the Germans. I got there but it was a house near the school, my secondary school, where two hundred Germans lived and I was at four metre from them to hide me. The things I did there was pulling potatoes and making coffee and other things. Quite boring. So, I was glad that a man who brought us two hundred copies of a secret volkpaper said to me, ‘Would you come to my place there in the resistance and you could do good work. ’ I said, ‘Oh yes. Please.’ And I went there. Afterwards, I realised me, that the man who asked me that was the son of the particular, particular secretary of Her Majesty Queen Wilhelmina but in war we were just friends. We became friends to fight to enlarge the [pause] to make it the Germans more danger. More difficult to do what they intended to do. So, I started in 1943 at the place [Oldpaten?] and what we call landgoed [?] near my native town.
RVDP: So, an estate.
KR: An estate.
RVDP: Yes.
KR: And seventeen hectares and I could do interesting work and work which made the work of the Germans difficult. First, I became head of the correspondence and connecting group. There were thirteen what we call couriersters. Girls between seventeen and twenty-five who were selected to bring reports from all very little towns to me so that I could bring them farther so that the BBC in London got acquainted with it. After, in the Netherlands, there were the interior forces of the Netherlands and they were divided into sections. The armed section and a non-armed section but there was not a sharp section. When needed I had to go take rifle and to go to join a group. But first was the most of the work was reporting things that happened in the surroundings. And for instance, we had a house very close to the railway at Amersfoort so that we could report what goods were transported by the Germans on the, of the railway. For instance, tanks and other for the Atlantic Wall. That gave us the intention to say if we blow up the railway it would restore the interest of the Germans to bring tanks by the railway to the Atlantic Wall. So, we did. But the Germans were very angry and said, ‘If, in the future, there’s a new attack the house that’s nearest to the point where the railway is blown up — the house will be burned and the inhabitants will be shot down. ’ That was a difficult point for us for it means that the inhabitants of the Netherlands, our friends, nearly became our enemies as we were suspected if a Dutch man who was very close to the Allies saw one of the resistance men he thought, ‘not my home.’ So it was very difficult to go on with the job as the people were anti-resistance man. Became anti-resistance man to save their home and their children. We thought about this two days but then came to the conclusion we must go on otherwise the resistance movements ends and that was not the intention. Certainly not. So, we changed the place where we made the attack. Very good hidden by bush and so and but it was near a house with two parents, forty five, forty three and four children — four to seventeen. And one and a half kilometre farther there was a small house with two people — eighty-five and eighty-three. It doesn’t mean that it is not verschrikkelijk.
RVDP: That’s ‘terrible.’
KR: Terrible. But war is terrible and the choice is to choose for the less terrible thing. So, we thought two people older than eighty can better die than six people in the glow of their life. We then found that the Germans got a bit of [unclear].
RVDP: They were more skilled in something.
KR: They were skilled in repairing the railways.
RVDP: They got better at it.
KR: Yeah. So it first took two days. Then one day. Then at least only one morning. So we made a decision that it was no more worse to blow up the railway as the damage we caused was not interesting enough for what we intended. That was one of the things I could do. But as I said I, we got news to the BBC and when we asked for dropping of weapons we had contact with the BBC and at thirteen hours Dutch time we got messages from Radio Orange and at certain time I heard, ‘The apple juice will not be eaten very hot.’ And we thought, ‘Ah that’s for us.’ Tomorrow at about 11 they will drop a container with weapons in the surroundings of [unclear]. In our surroundings. Unfortunately, it happened that a keen German general also knew a great deal of the [pause] of the [pause] —
[Recording paused]
KR: I was looking for the word. The code. For the German General Guderian knew quite a lot of this code. Therefore, I myself think that about sixty percent of the droppings came in German hands and not reach us. That was very bad but we couldn’t help that. In such a container was found with the weapons was a little book in six languages and at the end several voorbeeld.
RVDP: ‘Examples’.
KR: Examples how to deal with them.
RVDP: So, a manual.
KR: A manual.
RVDP: With which you, the people who used it, the contents — knew what to do with it.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: For demolition. Arms. Ammunition. A manual.
KR: Yes. And that also when we had such a dropping [unclear] of one of our other points and that was Baron von Hagren from [unclear] on an estate of twenty-two hectares where they had to bring the weapons. I did that in bags at the end, both ends of the bicycle and the question was do you go by the main road that’s thirteen kilometres or do you take second or third plan roads so you could perhaps avoid meeting Germans but that was twenty-five kilometres? Well, in short, I decided. I didn’t know if I was lazy but I decided to take the shortest way. And all again good. I came to Mr Van Hagren and I gave him the weapons. I had a message for him but he didn’t want it — to receive from me. He said, ‘That fall on the floor.’ I said, ‘But if the Germans here in the surroundings, he only sees that something is dropping then I, if I put it in your hands — ’ ‘Drop it.’ I think it was that if he was caught by Germans he could swear on the grave of his mother I didn’t receive any paper form or anything from this man. Okay. From my own [pause] wandering I found that the second part, going back was more difficult as due to the hunger winter we had lots of people came from north to the west. That means from Svala to Amersfoort on their bicycle with potatoes, with food. And so, and I had an empty case and people said, ‘How this man has not received anything from the farmers? ’ So, I said to Mr Van Hagren, ‘Next time I need six to eight stones to put in my luggage to be able to drive my bicycle as hard as the people with food.’
RVDP: So, people could tell it was loaded.
KR: Yeah.
RVDP: You had bags full and you wouldn’t stand out.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: Because that’s what you’re telling us.
KR: You musn’t —
RVDP: It was important not to stand out. To keep secrecy.
KR: Yes. That is what I say. If they remark you it’s not good in war. Never put your hat in the light. One of the main things for the resistance movement was to be as close as giving less names as possible and less addresses as possible. Important is that. So few people as possible should know anything from you and from your comrades. All must be done in secrecy. I preserved it when I came by bicycle out of the woods and the German came and asked me my bicycle. I had a band on my arm that I was part of the [unclear] of the town but that wasn’t important for him. I had papers in German and Dutch that I needed my bicycle. That too wasn’t important for him. So, I must walk. And in that case the resistance movement is in alarm for our courier which is not back in time and will he stand not to give addresses or names so that other people will be in danger. It was spare time. That means not to be allowed later than 8 o’clock in the evening on the streets and I came back at 9 o’clock in the evening but everyone was happy nothing happened and there was no name has fallen. Okay. That’s one of the securities that there was. Then another thing was, what we did, I spoke about the girls from seventeen to twenty-five who came from certain directions to give me the information. We could not allow that many times a day she would say, ‘Oh I have — my tyre is no good. I am later.’ So, we had made a decision that the bicycles of our girls must be perfect. So, we went to a salesman in the village. Asked him which people has bought, in the last months, a new bicycle. Then shifted it if it was a good Dutchman or a bad Dutchman and after that we went there. I think that was the man that asked me to join the resistance was in uniform, a German uniform. I myself had a police uniform and we went to a place where we knew they must have a new bicycle and I said to the man why we came, let me say it was a farmer. ‘Listen. This man is a German who needed a bicycle. If you tell me where your good bicycle is I will try to avoid that he goes there.’ So, tell me and we shall see if it happens, if it works.’ ‘Okay.’ As Henk was not a German but a Dutchman he, so he heard what I said perfectly what place the bicycle was but we played a game and so three or four minutes he was looking at a hay farm but I, in the farmhouse, in the stables and then suddenly after about four minutes he said, ‘Well’ and he went directly to the place he had heard that a good bicycle stand. We needed only the tyres so we threw the rest of the bicycle in the [unclear] of the estate. The water of the estate. Okay. So, worked our connections service. Another point. There came at the end of the war the Spitfires fired at German motor moves on the roads and they wanted to make a place to hide between the trees. And the German commander came and told us that he, or as he told the community, we were not a partner, that he needed three people to dig the roads. When he came back, he said, sorry. He heard there were no volunteers so then he [throwed?] and said, ‘Be sure that tomorrow you have three persons. Otherwise the secret police, our secret police, the Gestapo [ Gubz?] from Almelo and they will do their work.’ And we will know that that was very very awful work so we must prevent that the Gestapo should come. So, we gave the Germans three men to dig the holes. We could do that as not every German was em fanatic Hitler follower. Not SS and SA but he was a German who was called up for service and perhaps hated Hitler but he had to do his job and so he made us not too dangerous. We had the, previously, that our estate was apple trees and once in a fortnight we gave the Germans a bottle of apples. And so he was confident and we were confident. Therefore, I myself admired the work of the communist who had to do to hide people in a house in a row while we worked with estates where you much more easily could hide some people. Some events that I especially remember were [pause] at the end of the war pilots were very young. Eighteen. Nineteen years. Didn’t know too much. You know again there were too Britons which was in my home and I played chess with them also and gave them food. And I came above to take the plate back from the food and I saw that all the [unclear] soup was in the —
RVDP: So, he hadn’t eaten everything.
KR: He hadn’t even. He didn’t like it. And I said, ‘are you aware we are in the hunger of winter?’ ‘Tell her I don’t like it but don’t throw it away.’ Okay. Another was there were two Americans and a German car stopped before the house and as I say, ‘away. Away,’ and one of the Americans went to the window and pushed the curtain aside and I said, ‘are you mad?’ ‘I want to see how the enemy looks,’ he said. He didn’t realise the risk he gave to the people who hided him and tried to save his life so that he couldn’t became slachtoffer.
RVDP: A ‘victim’.
KR: A victim of the Germans. And so, it was different questions. The Australian, Eric Blakemore wrote to me many things for the happy memories of chess. And another from London wrote to me when I asked when they should go back the last lines to write a short sentence to me and he said, ‘know yourself to be true though canst be false to any man.’ That has astonished me. I thought, have I been untrue? Have I made a lie? What happens? But it should be something from Shakespeare or so and I don’t know exactly what he meant with it but he wanted that was his meaning. How he behaved himself. Okay. We had. I gave, as I say, the pilots and their helpers food so they must have a food card. Well another of our groups from the [pause] from the —
RVDP: Shall we pause for a moment?
KR: Yeah.
[Recording paused]
RVDP: Okay. Please continue.
KR: The resistance that were different groups with different tasks for when aeroplane was shot down. Our first work was — are we earlier than the Germans to find the people. And it’s the place where they were shot down a safe one. We couldn’t find. And poor German inhabited. The first thing was to take away the parachute and to give them new clothes. Or clothes anyway. Beyond that they should, for living, have food tickets and rations and an identity card. Other groups gave us the possibility to have blank tickets so that I could give them an ID card with stamps and so, and as I was and tried to be, to keep for myself some of these things I still could show my — the girls and school people how I worked with them. So I could show them a blank identity card and could show them how it worked. When it was full, our rations too, we had a group who made an attack in the evening at night at one of the burgh houses where the official guards were and they took them away for us so that we could give them to the flight people who were shot down, to keep them alive. When we sent them back they were some on a bicycle. Some we must hide other way. And we had an example that three Canadians were hidden under a beetroot car and some farmers said, ‘All full loaded,’ but they didn’t realise that underneath three Canadians must be able to breathe and to stay alive. It was so we had, I told you I played chess with them. We talked. In the meantime, we had good contacts but when there were about forty we had a group and there was another group again who sent them over the river and to hope that they were in the south of France where it was free already so they could join again.
RVDP: So, you had to make sure, when an aircraft was shot down, that you, as the resistance, were the first to make sure that the crew, if they were still alive, were safe.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: You took them with you in other clothes of course and you would hide them.
KR: Yes. Yes.
RVDP: And the resistance had all different teams and groups to make sure you had all the supplies you needed like the tickets for the rations, the food, the blanks, the blank cards.
KR: Yes. That was all. That was all good. Organised.
RVDP: Okay. And so, you hid them.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: Until let’s say, there were enough saved.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: To take them across the border.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: Which was done by another team.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: How long did it take normally for you to get enough?
KR: I thought that about six, seven weeks we needed but that was due to circumstances. So when it was perhaps more dangerous that we didn’t wait until we had forty but it was about thirty or so. But I know that my group certainly made twice the group over the rivers to free the Dutch ground. I don’t know how many places there were in the Netherlands but other groups did about the same. So I’m not able to say if it were one hundred, one thousand or five thousand. But we did our work so far as possible and as good as possible to save too — as much aeroplane soldiers were shot down we could bring alive to the border again. That was one thing that we, yeah, to a bit of resettlement and we did it. Organisation was good. I mean of course, the people we helped were thank to us that we did it so that was a good connection. And I must say that afterwards that was not so nice. We did not keep connections. But I think that comes through the circumstances. When I was in the resistance I didn’t find that I did a special thing to remember. So I must say that recently the official groups who organised the remembrance of seventy years. Seventy-two years. And so, the war was over and the end of the war in our country — the 4th of May. I was expelled to tell, or my daughter was expelled to tell why her father was allowed to lay a wreath on the monument in Amsterdam. And that’s the reason that at this moment we must give up from the dark what we still know what happened but then we didn’t. I never thought it is important or am I important. No. It was for our queen and our country we did it and to help as much as possible and dis-arrange the Germans. That was the work we did and why we did it for. And that’s still the reason that there’s not so much in remembrance. I reckon that I tried to save some of the things I worked with but not many people should have done it. And I have difficulty that I, for, for years I broke my neck and people thought oh that’s his end and throw away a part of the papers for that’s not interesting if you don’t know what it means. It is not interesting. And therefore it’s merely the sake of remembrance that I can tell but I’m happy now. I am happy that I have done it. So, I didn’t realise we did in the war. Now I realise it that how grateful the allies should be that, that our work we did in the war. But we didn’t do it to become in the lights. We did it to help where we thought it was our duty. For we were an ally too. Yes.
RVDP: Yeah. I think it was, as you just said very important to help our liberators liberate us.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: Of course that’s what you as part of the resistance did.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: And like you just mentioned the Remembrance Day, our Remembrance Day and telling your story and making presentations at schools. That’s all, that’s also, the Brits say because it’s important to remember.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: Lest we forget. And as we Dutch say — opdat we niet vergeten.
KR: Yes. But we finally realised it should be so important after sixty, seventy years that is and there were people now going to the schools and telling about what they find out about what I’ve seen. That they were born in 1944. I must say that it’s not really — and that is what they heard or what they think of it could have been. And then it is often more interesting or — they have done so much hero things. I can’t see what it was to me. I tell my story. Not from a book. I tell what I remember. That means what I perceived. What we did. What we had. What happened. And not to romanticise it and say if it should have been so it was nice. That’s not my story.
RVDP: No. From you it’s the real story and all those other people who didn’t really live through the war, weren’t born then and make presentations now. It’s more like hearsay. From you it’s the actual story.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: And that’s what makes it so very, very special. This interview.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: So, thank you again for telling us your story and it’s, it’s wonderful. So, thank you very much indeed.
KR: Yes. I regret that since six years I have the illness of Parkinson. So my ability even with —
RVDP: Balance.
KR: My balance.
RVDP: Yeah.
KR: Is not so good so I am —
RVDP: And it’s because of the Parkinson disease.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: Yeah.
KR: I couldn’t do all I should like to do but what I can I will do and I am eager to do it. So if I could please you with anything further and with some help I can certainly do it.
RVDP: Thank you again Mr Kroese and you are a really very remarkable man. Like you already told you were born in 1924. You lived through the war. Did all these things you told us about. You have broken your neck four years ago. You are suffering from Parkinson disease but still you are here.
KR: Yes, and I think —
RVDP: You must be very very strong and you were able. And thank you for that.
KR: Yes.
RVDP: To, to —
KR: I think —
RVDP: To get still — yeah. Sorry.
KR: I think that I broke my neck as part of the Parkinson that I had. Small amounts of not knowing for it was when I went in after walking with the dog in my garden. And as I live now only fifty years I can’t, it can’t have been, couldn’t be I didn’t know why it was. So, I say it’s a part of the Parkinson that has been.
RVDP: Okay.
KR: But I say at the moment to people and veterans the years between ninety and a hundred are the nicest years of my life and I’m so happy I can do these things now.
RVDP: Yeah.
KR: I like to take part.
RVDP: I’m very happy to hear that and I wish you an awful lot more years of enjoyment.
KR: Thank you.
RVDP: So, thank you again for this interview.
KR: Thank you for yours.
Dublin Core
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AKroeseFW170829
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Interview with Frederik Kroese
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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IBCC Digital Archive
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Sound
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eng
Format
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00:59:37 audio recording
Creator
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Ron van de Put
Date
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2017-08-29
Description
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Frederik Willem Kroese describes his work for the Resistance in the Netherlands following the German occupation.
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Mal Prissick
Coverage
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Civilian
Royal Air Force
Spatial Coverage
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Germany
Great Britain
Netherlands
England--London
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Temporal Coverage
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1939
1940-05
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
Conforms To
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Pending OH summary
evading
memorial
Resistance
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/15/25/ABoschD150730.1.mp3
2448e92d76f47177718312bd530f4e19
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Bosch, Dirk
D Bosch
Description
An account of the resource
One oral history interview with Dirk Bosch (b. 1931) a schoolboy in Amsterdam during the war. The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Date
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2015-07-30
Identifier
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Bosch, D
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Heather Hughes
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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MC: This interview is being carried out on the behalf of the International Bomber Command Centre. The interviewee is Mr Dirk Bosch, the interviewer is Mike Connock and the date is the 30th of July 2015 and the interview is taking place at Welton. Right, if you just tell me a bit about where and when you were born.
DB: I was born in Amsterdam, July 1931, just about eighty four years ago therefore and when war broke out I therefore was only I was only eight years and a number of months old. That’s very young and my parents obviously tried to shield me from everything. We lived in Amsterdam and I do remember that when Holland had capitulated as they obviously would have. They would either have been overrun by superior German forces or capitulate so I think it was a sensible option. The country is small. In the First World War which was often mentioned 1914 1918 the Netherlands were neutral and we liked it. We took that as a good thing and we wanted to be neutral again. So we tried to be neutral. We did not mobilise in the face of Germany because we thought we could pacify her. We could keep them quiet which meant that when war broke out we were not prepared. We were knowingly and consciously not prepared. My brother therefore who was of that age, older, about 12 years older than me [pause] he was lately, late on called up and he was got ready for the front because we didn’t engage, we didn’t engage with the Germans. It was that quiet. But he late on was called up and he was got ready for the front with no preparation to speak of. No training. No exercise. Just in, issued a uniform, keep him in that barracks there and you know he was very soon to go to the front when fortunately the war ended in Holland. We were not unhappy with that as such. It, it was the best of two evils really.
So I remember standing along one of our main entry roads into Amsterdam and the Germans came in in endless columns. Nearly all in transport. There weren’t any, any boots on the floor. They were nearly all were in transport and they dashed past us, they rushed past into the centre of Amsterdam and from there probably onward. The Germans being Germans will have been well organised. And that afternoon. Whatever time it took - that was it. We were now occupied. You didn’t notice that much on the day. We didn’t hear any
MC: I was going to say, you were going to say I just wondered how the schooling, your schooling was, you know, up until that time.
DB: OK.
MC: Can you?
DB: Well yeah I’m trying to recoup where I was. Anyway the Germans were all through town and for one thing they took our school. We had a nice, fairly modern school and they took it for a hospital. We therefore, the pupils had to join another school and I haven’t got the dates and times precisely I know but it was something like 8 to 1 for the one school and one to half past five for the other school and that alternated. So, that, the prettier school that the Germans had, had taken for the hospital, that was built right into the middle of blocks of civilian houses and they had, I’m sure, done that on purpose to make sure that the RAF or whoever wouldn’t come in to bomb or anything. Well in the first place everything was pretty quiet. We were told at a fairly early time but I don’t know how early that we had to hand in our radios and my parents did but the neighbour below us because we lived in flats, the neighbours below us hid theirs. Now if it had been found they would have been shot. As easy as that. But it wasn’t found because the man was a worker at a local bank and he had all sorts of nooks and crannies at his disposal, vaults and safes and he could manage to scriddle[?] his radio away. We did of course see Germans walking and we also had what we referred to as the NSB which is the National Socialist Bond or something and they acquired uniforms. They were given uniforms and they were put on the street corners selling their particular paper which I’ve never ever seen anybody buy. That was the most ostensible signs. There was, there were declarations. The Germans put declarations on walls and house sides and the declaration would be in the gothic lettering. We couldn’t hardly read it but then they also put what we would call today normal, normal script, normal font next to it and we were supposed to read that and see what we were to do and not to do because that was what it was all about. We had an underground and the underground was active but very cautious because we had little to gain. We couldn’t do anything that was terribly significant. I mean you wouldn’t go and kill a German soldier because the repercussions would be tremendous and you wouldn’t have achieved much. So we just saw them march and they sang. We had a curfew. Not I suppose at once but I only remember it if it was all [?] time we had a curfew at night, fairly early. I would think depending on how light it was. Something between 6 and 7 and then at night when we had little to do but go to bed we could hear the singing and marching. There was of course no transport to speak of because at, in 1940 stroke ‘45 we in Holland had very few motorcars in the first place. I mean who had a motorcar? I had one uncle who had a car and I had twelve uncles, you know and, but that was how life was. That was normal. We had bicycles. The use of the bicycles was fairly limited because the Germans built cordons and let all the bicycles run into it but none out. They took the bicycles for melting down the rubber of the tyres and the steel or the metal anyway for their, for their weapons production. So people became terribly frightened and cautious about using their bicycles. The out, the way out was by using the bicycles without tyres. It’s possible. It makes it a much slower process and very loud especially on cobbles. The things rattle like hell but what developed was that parties of people not many at once would go ‘up farmer’. Now ‘up farmer’ means you go and sort out a farmer somewhere in the country. You take your box camera or your, a couple of sheets or whatever you have in the cupboard and you try and exchange that for something to eat because the, at this time, the time I’m talking about but not sure how to to identify we had no food and the farmers were sympathetic and I did take our stuff. I suppose I more or less had to, er but they would they would try to give you something to to take away and the thing to have was peas because they were long lasting things and wheat. Wheat was always fancied. Er Potatoes. Potatoes could last a good while but anyway anything they would give and then the people would walk the bikes so they wouldn’t matter so much if they made a bit noise but there were trips beyond a single day so they would have to sleep somewhere by the roadside right on top of the bikes so that they wouldn’t get stolen or anything with their gear on and then the following day they would have to continue their journeys. Now my sister, who at that time must have been anything between fifteen and twenty, sorry I can’t know much better she did a couple of trips and she did it with a friend of hers, also of course a young lady and there was, I never heard of any problems that they had with the German soldiers. They were stopped and they were asked what they were doing and what they had there and they happened to get away with it. They didn’t lose any gear but a number of people would relate their stories. They were stopped by German soldiers. They would take everything they had got from the farmers and the bikes and they would have to walk the rest home with nothing. That of course was very, very unfortunate very unpleasant. So as war progressed we got we had less and less food. The Germans provided a system of ration cards and food to, to cover those ration cards. There was also what was known as centrale keuken - centralised kitchens and you had ration coupons for those kitchens and it was my not ever so pleasant duty to go with a pan to some shack somewhere and get your, your ration of slops whatever it was and carry them, carry that home again and when it got home it was a very unanimous sort of slops you know. There was, you could see perhaps a little bit of the potato or a little bit of carrot but you couldn’t really tell what it was. It was just like a thick soup basically and then if you wanted to warm it up somewhat or something you did not have any fuel. There was no gas. There was no electricity. Electricity wouldn’t have helped in this instance because in Holland we used gas for all that and electricity really only for lights, radio, that sort of thing. So we had stoves in our main room in our lounge, our sitting room - living room. We had stoves and where they came from I don’t know but there was a supply of little stoves. Little metal boxes and those boxes were more or less open in the bottom and had a hole in the top and they had a little drawer in the bottom and had the shelf in the middle like a roster with, you know that the air could pass through. And us kids were sent out to find branches and bits of paper and anything that would burn and what you could do you could put the little square box, metal that was on top of your stove your main stove in the lounge and the draft would come from the bottom, draw through the grid, the grill and you had some paper in there and you lit it and put your branches fired your branches, your bits of timber anything you could find and that would then burn quite well. You could put a pan on the top of it and the pan shut off the top so you have got an opening in the bottom for the air to go into, then you had a, it, it went through the fuel if you like. Then there was a vertical enclosure of it and that was not quite, did not quite go to the top. So the air that rose being hot would go over the top and at the back it would be sucked away into the works of the stove and go up your, the chimney in to the environment so that way you had a heated source and you could warm something a bit. Obviously later, in later years when it got colder and that last winter ’44, ‘45 wasn’t it, it was a very bad one. A very strong winter. It was not it, it, it meant nothing. It was not enough heat to do anything. At that time we would sit in our kitchens. It would be dark early. I don’t know what this discipline of lighting we had whether the clocks were forward or backward or two hours forward or two hours backward even we, I don’t know but it was light, it was dark early and you went to bed early. We sat in our kitchen and our kitchen was about ten foot by a good four foot and there was one little table in it. There were in fact six of us. My brother, two sisters, my father, my mother and myself and we would, we would sit on that around that little table a little table of about 60cm by 120metre, you know, very small and my mother would be invariably darning. My sister would be rehashing, recycling clothing would be unpicking the seams, would be cutting away the edges would be putting it back together and later sew it again on a hand sewing machine and then it would be a different size. It would be smaller because everything would have been uniformly proportionately be reduced and that was for somebody else to be used and that’s how we went with that. The ice on the windows was measurable it was at the bottom end of the of the window pane where some melting might have occurred and it had come down. At the bottom of the window pane it would be a good half inch thick and the whole pane would be filled with ice. And it would be rather beautiful to be honest where all these patterns that these crystals make. But upstairs, and I slept upstairs it would be absolutely freezing. It is unbelievable. People did not only died of hunger but they also died of cold of course. Now there is a big thing not yet mentioned to you which had its own affect all through and at one point we had on one the morning when we stepped out we saw people with funny yellow stars on their clothing and I had no idea. I had no idea what it was about and I don’t know if I very soon did because as I said my parents tried to keep me out of things. Not ever so religiously but on the whole you know I didn’t know about. But those of course were the Jews and at a given time these people all came out with these yellow stars on their coats and as you know the Jews wear a lot of black. Black overcoats are a favourite and then they had a very poorly sewn yellow stars on their coat. You could see someone very unused to sewing sometimes had sewn them on. Big course stitches you know five points that was all really. But once they were identifiable and identified they were sitting ducks. I suppose that there would have been certain ones who didn’t do it. They were very much in danger if they were found out but the ones who did do it were little better off. One morning and I, one of the things I remember, and I don’t think I have a memory for everything at all but one thing I remember when we walked to school from where we lived we crossed a rather main artery, you know, major road and as we came from the side street that we used to cross it and continue on the other side to my right were a number of German trucks, open trucks and there were people being ushered along the pavements. There were German soldiers stood along the pavement in in rows that I walked in between and the Germans were all armed and they were sort of roughly made to get into those trucks, standing on top in the open and those that had been filled were just having to stand there and wait and the rest will no doubt would have filled because we just crossed that road and we went on. Talk about it. We had no idea we had no idea. Nobody did. Perhaps at that time the right people hadn’t even been addressed to Hitler to set processes in in motion. I don’t know but we, Germans to us were our neighbours. We had a certain respect for Germans. Other countries as well. Holland by the nature of its minerals, its ores and other things we were dependant on foreign countries for much of our industrial product and we knew Germans and French and English well. On, even on the quite simple schools you learned the three languages German English and Dutch err German, English and French because you were expected later to be able to converse with these people.So, I’m trying to pick up my train of thought here. We, we had seen Germans we had known we knew, were more into German music than English or French music and we would have some idea of German films. Even in the, the wartime in the beginning of the war we could still go to cinemas but only to see German pictures and we spoke of Heinz Ruhmann because he was such a funny man. We didn’t mind Germans at that level somehow because oh they would look after us. The Jews would be alright. They were, after all they were Germans. They wouldn’t do anything nasty. It wasn’t in ‘em. And although we had our underground from the word go and people were very much anti the German sympathisers we didn’t at that point hate the Germans, strangely enough. Perhaps my memory is not perfect on that score or my knowledge but that’s how it must have been for at least for a good proportion. So we went into that period and the Jews were being deported to work camps. We understood that the Jews were being taken to work for the Germans. Now it wasn’t very nice. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t good but they’d be back soon. They wouldn’t be long. So there they went and the Germans started to empty their houses or their flats or whatever you know. We referred, in our idiom we referred to all that as houses. They started to empty their houses and if you looked in the railway yards you could see long columns of wagons with enormous banners on them from back to front and it says liefde giften van Holland [?]which means love gifts from the Netherlands. This of course was a lie but nobody was even shaken too much about that. After all we didn’t have that much respect for the German decorative but in any case we didn’t know what was going on and what happened was that those wagons were all being run off to Germany and somehow were made available to Germans. We of course in Holland had lots of waterways and near us in one of the canals we had one of these big lighters [?] . Are you familiar with lighter? A lighter is like a big open house a big hull really that’s all it is. And they were full of small items. I proudly, we jumped into them and do you know was rummaging about and I proudly brought some bank slips home. I had no idea what a bank slip was but I could, could draw on that. So I brought that home for drawing on and for writing on. Just a few things. I think I was then told not to do it again but that was the long and the short of it. So and by and by that disappeared. Now those houses stood empty and as it got cooler and colder eventually we Dutch people of Amsterdam came and broke open the the doors because in Holland and certainly at that time there was one front door and several flats off it so the flat, the front door could usually be opened with a latch key. So they kept, they left the front doors in the beginning but they began to take all the stairs away. They took the stairs away right to the top to the third or fourth floor they burnt them of course. That was fuel. And when that had gone they took the doors on the higher floors away and when they had gone they took the floors of the floor of the other floors away and when they had gone they took the beams and rafters until they were stood there empty. The front door by that time would have gone as well but they, they were empty carcases of houses. The bricks of course remained and I think out of caution and health and safety they left some of the beams so they wouldn’t collapse on people. But that that was that. That disappeared. We had one Jewish couple - couple from family which we were acquainted with and they disappeared. We knew through my sister there was a girl in that family Stella and her father and mother and their fathers and mothers they all disappeared one day. Gone. And only the girl herself came back. After the war, I don’t know I think it was the Americans who found them in their concentration camp. After the war they were first taken back to another part of Germany and then to Sweden and from Sweden to America and we have known them and we have visited them in New York where she had by that time married a German. A German Jew. He had also been in a, in a concentration camp and they, they told us stories not too much because it’s distasteful and you don’t like to talk about that but on the other hand they were very keen that young, younger people, their own kids would be well acquainted of facts. Right. What I would want to say is are you happy that little?
MC: Did your parents work at that time? Were they, what did they do?
DB: At -
MC: For work
DB: At that time women very rarely worked in Holland. They were housewives. Holland of course had a reputation for being clean and everything. Well those women at home were always cleaning and they cleaned the streets in front of our flats and we, carpets were being beaten twice a week and it was quite a, quite a thing you know and all carpets were taken up – carpets and rug, rugs, and my mother would talk to the lady below us and they would come together, take all the carpets and rugs out. Some of ‘em had special steps, wooden steps, very tall about seven steps to a set and they had two brackets in the top rung and they would bring down a long wooden pole and they would push the pole through the brackets and big the eyes and then they would put the carpets over the pole and they would hold a corner of it in one hand and the carpet beater in the other hand and they would give it hell and, I didn’t know that at the time but there was even regulation about it. Not everyone could at any time beat a carpet. You couldn’t do it before and I’m guessing 8 o’clock because people might still be sleeping. And you couldn’t do it longer than 10 o’clock because it was about time that it stopped and when those carpets were being beaten and remember that was all down the street and those buildings are four storeys high so it echoes and the din was enormous and then when it was done it had to be rolled up, taken up the stairs, the stair carpets had to come down as well and the stair carpets were sewn together so that when they were rolled out they took the shape of the stair and then they had the carpet rods and they were, had to be reinserted under the eyes that were drilled into the carpet to the stairs however and then peace was restored. But it was not of any import in itself of course. Not relevant to the war. That always happened but that’s what the ladies did. They cleaned. My father was made to work somewhere because just at that time when the Germans came in he’d become sort of redundant because of the slump because by that time you know you had the big malaise and he was, was set to work in fields because I know this because the Germans loaded them up on trucks and ran ’em to the fields somewhere and gave them jobs to do. I spent the whole day there. I had a fishing rod and stayed there all day and had a marvellous time. Excellent time. And the Germans stood guard armed over these elderly Dutch workers. So I don’t know what he did. I never went to look. I don’t know if I’d have been allowed to get any nearer. Perhaps I was as near as I could get but they will have been building bunkers or tank, tank stops, tank – I don’t know. And really on the whole therefore we didn’t have an awful lot to do with them. I would, I was involved in taking an illegal paper. Now illegal papers were serious business and the Germans here again would kill people. Because they wanted, at all costs I think they knew the punishment was out of step with the offence but they knew that it had to be stopped at source because the illegal papers told people things they didn’t want you to know. There was, the only news I know we had was a news cinema in town. For a little while we had the radios and that already very quickly turned into propaganda medium. Let’s not be mistaken about this all the time everywhere but the when the Germans said that over the front at this point the German forces have carried out tactful for retreat for the good of the war and therefore be in a better position. No. They had been beaten and they had been beaten back but you didn’t know that and you didn’t know what you could believe and what you could not believe. We thought even the illegal newspapers were written with a view to bolstering morale of the readers and could have been prettified but we chose not to believe that because we wanted to to hear the best and therefore well anyway one day I had to take it to the next person to read it. It was after curfew. We were lived in a quiet street and there would rarely be anybody around in the daytime and at night. It was absolutely empty. So I had to take the illegal paper over the road. I came downstairs singing and dancing because I could do the stairs in the pitch black. Knew exactly where everything was no problem. I got out of the front door. It was a moonless night. No light whatsoever. Street lights had long gone. I stepped out and I suddenly became aware that there was somebody and I could just about having got close, too close see that it was a uniform and I thought, “Oh my God what do I do?” I thought go straight on. Make out that it’s nothing so I skipped on and went over the road. I had my latchkey, the latchkey ready. I threw the latchkey in to the lock, opened it and shut the door behind me and stood with my heart beating cause if I’d gone back they would have hurt my parents if I’d gone forward the other people could have been but they could have denied all knowledge and could have said, I just fled. So that is what I did. Later on I learned it was actually a navy man and the navy wouldn’t have had anything to, to, no axes to grind, you know what I mean. That was one little event. Another little event was we had to walk everywhere because there were no longer any trams. There was were few buses in Amsterdam anyway but they weren’t there. No trams, no buses. All you could do was bikes and I’ve said something about that. Or walk. And we walked everywhere. I had an aunt who lived about two hours walking north of Amsterdam beyond the harbour. And I remember walking there and a couple of my mates came with me. We did that a lot. You could go anywhere with your mates and come in. And there was little tiny boat probably a mine dredger or something in the harbour and kids were selling a little puppy dog for half a loaf, half a German loaf. German loaf of course is quite a brick you know. They weren’t very good. On the same walk having arrived on the other side of the harbour we walked on and there was a lot of shouting and running about. We saw that a group of people was attacking a baker. He was delivering bread. That was common. That was ordinary at the time. There is nothing new under the sun is there? These deliveries from supermarkets well they were already delivering bread by cart from the bakers and as the man had arrived at his destination house and had rung the bell he’d left the hood up and there was a big cover on it, a hard cover and the people were in it, robbing him of his bread. And he ran back oh six foot of it and slammed the cover down and I remember that one loaf had spilled out from it from under the cover under the cart and I was well inclined to go and pick it up and have it but it was gone before I could even begin to make ground and it was one of those well one and a half inch high loaves because there was no yeast. There was no yeast. There was no salt. The flour was course and hadn’t really been strained or [unclear] or whatever you do. That was, that was why the bread was as it was. What we did do and did a better job of it if we got the opportunity we went into the countryside when they were harvesting and we walked behind the err what do you call it, the machine, the big machine
MC: Combine harvester?
DB: The combine yeah. We walked we used to walk behind the combines. No I’m lying we didn’t have the combines. It was a scythes job.
MC: Yeah.
DB: Remember that?
MC: Yeah.
DB: When they would be scything, the farmers would be scything and there would be somehow, there would be ears of grain on the floor. I don’t know how they got removed from the stalks but they were like the ears and from the bundles you know the sheaves and those we were allowed to pick up and put in bags and there was usually a German soldier stood in the field but they didn’t fuss with that. A field is a big thing to cover and they didn’t have that many people on hand. If, if they, if they’d done anything like shoot at people it would have been very difficult for them to keep control over all the people that were there. I don’t think they would have been too keen.
Right. Well I would hardly say this is all but I’ve?
MC: So you mentioned about the, you heard, used to hear the bombers going over. Perhaps you could tell us a bit more about that
DB: Right well at night and remember about the curfew we would go to bed early and in the dark I remember it always dark pitch all the time. In the dark you would lie listening and listen with the certain knowledge of what you were going to hear. There was no traffic. There were no cars, no buses, no trams. There were no planes of course. There wouldn’t have been any bicycles without tyres at that time of night. But what you would hear and there was some magic about it you would hear planes and the planes you would hear you wouldn’t hear the beginning of. You would, you could never say it’s started because it was either there or it wasn’t there. They, that merged into the silence so thinly because it was so far away that you couldn’t make it out. Not until there were more of ‘em and they were nearer and then you would hear the anti-aircraft guns and the anti-aircraft gun would at first, in the early stages they would be busy. You know the lights would be crossing the skies quite wildly it seemed. Sometimes they would pick one out and let’s say it was a Lancaster it would just go off and the aircraft gunners would aim at it but it would be too high. They would be invariably be too high and it would just go on. They wouldn’t lose it whether they, whether because of the aircraft moving them not being good enough to hold on to. Not that easy I think but they would lose it then and through the night you would hear that distant drone and you would know that it was power, powerful drone excuse me power, powerful drone because one aircraft would not have made that particular noise. It was the numbers that made the difference. And when you were in your bed alive [?] to it and that being the only sound you heard it had a big significance. You knew that this mattered, it mattered to our good because it was the only bit of war effort that we witnessed and it happened to the German’s detriment. That’s the other thing that would make it good. And they would drone over and over and over and we would normally not hear the end of it. Hard enough to do but by that time we would be asleep and then sometimes we would hear an aircraft. Normally a single, an aircraft come over low and land. Low and very loud. Not like the drone. Not power or anything. It would probably have been it and it would come over low and just miss the tops of the houses or steeples or whatever and it would be on its way back and you would know that there would be people sitting in there – four, five, ten, I don’t know. And they would be in danger. And they might die. And they would go over and go towards the west. They would soon be over the sea and they would all be sitting in there praying that it would stay up. That it would make it to Norfolk, Suffolk you know. The first stops. Not Lincolnshire I don’t think because that would make it such a wider angle. It would be farther to fly. We don’t know whether we ever heard one that went down. We don’t know whether we ever hear one that put down safely you know. That, that was a very relevant sort of noise [unclear]. It sort of, of course when the war ended we were in a bad way. In Amsterdam in particular because we were above a certain line. I don’t need to go in to this here but the Germans had perforated the dykes so the water had come in and much of Holland is below sea level so a lot of area had been inundated err the food [?]still could come to us very easily but somehow somewhere an agreement was reached for the allies to drop food. Now there will have been a lot of people who knew detail of that you know. The underground resistance workers. We didn’t. It wasn’t for us to know but what we did know is that one day we heard an aircraft as loud as we ever have heard one and only feet high. Came over, we could see the members of the crew and we were waving whatever we got. They were waving. We were cheering. You could hear the cheering over everything [short pause]and that was marvellous. They had dropped food and they were on their way back. They were waving to us. People were on the rooves especially where they were flat and they were waving with sheets and towels and flags. You weren’t supposed to have flags. And everything and the big thing of it was we knew it was true. Now it was true. We were liberated. It was, was enormous. And that is why it is so big in Holland.
MC: So when did you get access to the food? Did they bring it?
DB: That was, that was out of our scope. That wasn’t for us. There were authorities and the authorities took it and they were our authorities. Dutch. And they did it proper but don’t forget they didn’t throw down bread loaves they throw down flour. Threw down flour and that had to be collected, baked and the, the bread which came almost overnight which was so good. Was white. We didn’t believe that you could have white bread like that. It was white and it was high. It stood like that. We couldn’t believe that either. And then we got food at school. They provided food through the schools so that the kids could have food and well that, if you like, was it. That was almost the very last act of the war. The Germans had had enough and you can’t blame ’em. The Germans who were there had had enough and they set off walking. They walked. You see Holland is not a big country as you well know and I think it would still probably take three days to cross it on foot you know. But they set off, they set off walking home. Oh and the edge of Amsterdam was a pile and each German solder threw on it a bayonet, his gun, his rifle whatever he had. All his arms and that pile was growing all the time. We looked at it jealously because us kids you know, thought marvellous I’m going to pinch one of them but you didn’t get that chance. I suppose if I remember correctly it was the underground that guarded it, people of the resistance and, and that was, and there was only one other thing an account that the war was over. Germany had capitulated. On the corner of the Dam Square in Amsterdam where the palace is is a principal hotel and the German officers used it and they thought it would be fun. All the people had come out again. It was lively on the Dam Square lots of people walking and being merry and they thought it would be fun to aim their sub machine guns on it and start rattling and they killed a number of Dutch people on the square after the war had ended.
[tape stops]
MC: So the Dutch railways?
DB: This is running?
MC: Yes, yeah just
DB: The Germans had left the Dutch to run the Dutch railways but they made diligent use of it. They used it for freight of all sorts, armaments perhaps. I do not know. And personnel. And when it got a bit further in to the war and the underground was thinking what more could we do to help here, a difficult organisation you must understand they decided to encourage the Dutch railwaymen to go on strike and that would just throw down the Dutch railways bang [we won[?]. And I don’t know how they achieved it but they did it and the Germans were a bit, very upset about and very much crossed their line of approach, their system. And for one thing they, they did kill a number of railwaymen for the reason, for that reason and they tried to find more all the time and there were those who were just at home. My uncle was a railwayman and he and his wife also were harbouring a Jewish woman. But in the first place they had got a one escapee or what shall we call them? A person who avoids the German occupation but, or, or imprisonment but she would have gone to the camps. Well they had the one lady had a position in the eaves in case of danger. That was the Jewish woman. And when they did in fact come and they did of course they had personnel records so they could go straight to the addresses of the people who hadn’t turned up and they came to look for railwaymen and there my aunt was hiding this Jewish woman but they got her into the eaves somehow in time but there was very little time to do anything about my uncle. Well in Holland we have the custom of every day taking off the bedclothes and airing them over a chair or something so she forced my uncle on the chair because she was a very quick witted woman. She forced my uncle on a chair next to the bed and threw the bedclothes over him. There is a version of this story that the Germans came through the house all right. Never got anywhere near this Jewish woman but when one of the Germans looked and my aunt looked at him she saw him look at the pair of shoes appearing from underneath the bedclothes and she then believes that he thought, ‘no, leave them be’. Not all Germans were of course bad. I believe that they with the war being over we, you know they wish they had been. I know that I was later in Switzerland of all places and I was on an outlook post in a in a Swiss forest and there was another chap on the top there and we got talking and he asked what nationality I was and I said I was Dutch and he shrunk, he visibly shrunk and he said, “You must hate me”. You know there were good people. Not that many.
MC: So after the war you stayed in Holland?
DB: I stayed in Holland. I did a job and um but not immediately of course and actually it is a bit relevant. We had people doing health checks and a lot of us who had been hungry in the war we were underweight. And if you were underweight there was a system whereby Danish, Swedish, I think Swiss families had opened up to Dutch kids to put some weight on again and I was chosen to go to Denmark which I well enjoyed by the thought of it. That would be good for me to see this country. It would an adventure and everything and I was well keen to go but not all that long before the travel time it was full and I couldn’t go. Well that wasn’t good at all because I had to have my end exams, my final examinations from school at that time but with the prospect of going away my head teacher said he’d prepare me one on the basis of my schoolwork which would have been considerably better than than the exam so I was happy and now I had go again. So I locked myself up to study and then I got a place in England. I got a place in Lincoln. So at the late hour I was taken to a place called Woodlands near Doncaster which was an, I think an RAF base. May have been an army base and we slept in Nissan huts and I spent six weeks in Nissan huts and eight weeks with family.
MC: And how old were you at that time?
DB: Fourteen I believe and the people that had the honour of having, receiving me, for getting me were the parents of my wife. Can you imagine, I often think of this, somewhere in Amsterdam in an unknown place sits an unknown person who says who have you got down for Denmark? Oh no, no they’re full. At that moment my life changes. I don’t know that. I will never know the, and then somebody says there are a few places left in England. And that’s when my life changes, changes again. And even the, it even chooses my wife. So the war has got something to answer for don’t you think?
MC: Absolutely yeah yeah it can change your life yes. So after, after that you just stayed in Lincoln?
DB: I worked in Holland at the savings bank, the Holland Steamship Company that sailed to Falmouth and Fowey and Manchester and Liverpool and London and I got some free, free sails, sailings with and I then worked at my uncle’s who had a factory in [unclear] in a small metalwork. I then worked for an importer no I worked yeah, yeah importer, exporter of chemicals and aromas and I worked somewhere else, I can’t remember now. I mentioned I also did administration for a small dealer in household objects. Anyway I came back from time to time to – just because I liked it to be honest. I liked to do it and to come here and I had certain opportunities and I once or twice came to my then still foster parents unannounced and they put me up sweet as anything no problem. Then they came once or twice to Holland. Then Mavis came to Holland once - no with a friend and I just grew in the normal way that things grew and that really became the end. Now let’s see if there’s anything there must be something left. I had a feeling that there was something significant yet to tell you. No I can’t, I can’t think. I’ve certainly gone over all the major things that I have to tell you. It’s - unless you have any questions that -
MC: No.
DB: No my brother was the same age that I have referred, have I, have I referred to him
MC: [unclear]
DB: My brother in law but yes he was my brother in law was deported to Germany as a, as a worker. He could drive car which very few people could and he drove cars and buses in Germany of labourers or workers from their lodgings to the factories. Now my brother was the same age group but he didn’t have to go because he’d been working in the horticultural industry and his boss had quicky diverted to vegetable growth, growing veggies and he became a protected worker thereby. My sisters. My younger sister worked what that was commonly, in service and my older sister in the clothing industry and did well after the war and went to America and had a small department in a patterns factory in in New York. A company called Simplicity.
Dublin Core
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Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Dirk Bosch
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Great Britain. Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Holocaust, Jewish (1939-1945)
Description
An account of the resource
Dirk Bosch was eight years old when the German army occupied his home town of Amsterdam. In this interview he describes what life was like for him during this time. He refers to seeing Dutch Jews rounded up and deported. He describes the hunger of the time and the effort to find food by travelling to the countryside and hoping for help from the farmers. He also speaks about the dangers he faced while taking illegal newspapers to a neighbour. He describes the sound of the Lancaster bomber aircraft flying overhead at night. He also describes Operation Manna.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Mike Connock
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-07-30
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Julie Williams
Heather Hughes
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
01:16:00 audio recording
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
ABoschD150730
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Netherlands--Amsterdam
Netherlands
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940
1944
1945
anti-Semitism
childhood in wartime
Holocaust
home front
Lancaster
Operation Manna (29 Apr – 8 May 1945)
Resistance
round-up