Private Gerry E. Maller

Unit : Worcestershire Regiment

Served : France (captured).

Army No. : 5571151

POW No. : 9911

Camps : Stalag VIIIB / 344

Prologue January 2005

I have just turned out a desk drawer and found a folder containing an article I wrote in 1995 when I was writing an account of my war time experiences. I had a word-processor which was difficult to edit, having acquired a computer (albeit second-hand) I thought I would try to rewrite it, correcting several spelling mistakes, and adding a few extra events I have recalled.

My wife must be smiling down on me watching my fingers fumbling over the keyboard. Peggy was a touch typist her fingers flew over the keys, she loved a challenge and her firm was one of the first to introduce a new machine into the office, I think it was a "Burrows or Boroughs" and the for-runner of the computer. She was sent on a course in Bristol to learn the rudiments of this new innovation. When the machine was installed in the office it had to be allocated a separate room as it was so noisy. Technology has advanced so rapidly over the years but sadly Peggy did not live to enjoy what would have been an interesting challenge to keep pace with each new innovation. She would have been devastated at the deterioration of law and order in the community, with litter and graffiti in the streets, afraid to go out at night, and social clubs closing down as councils increase the cost of rentals on the rooms. NOT the kind of environment we envisaged as we worked hard, and saved for our retirement.

Everybody has their own "IF ONLY" as to why the world is in such a state and how it could be improved. With "MY" "IF ONLY" there would have been no problems. "IF ONLY" "EVE HAD HAD A "HEADACHE" INSTEAD OF AN "APPLE". I wonder what Darwin would say. I REST MY CASE.

The following events are logged in my memory but may not necessarily be in chronological order.

A TASTE of VICTORY  1995

I saw an article in the Royal British Legion Journal asking for war time memories to be included in a TASTE of VICTORY TV programme, I was going to say I must have been one of the highest people to hear Winston Churchill's speed proclaiming "Peace in Europe" and eating an unusual meal at the time (all will be revealed later). I have started to reminisce and the programme is only for half an hour, so I will not bother to send it away but just carry on writing.

When I was demobbed from the army, after a few years I got married and decided that I would put all those war time wasted years behind me, forget the past and start life afresh. Having said that, how did I read the Royal British Legion Journal?

I will go back to the early morning JUNE 4th 1918 (a few hours earlier it would have been JUNE 3rd and my life would have been entirely different, for better or worse I shall never know). There was a war on 1914-1918 so I do not expect it was planned, but Mr & Mrs Maller had a son. Twenty years eleven months and (29 or 30 days I have not worked it out on the calendar) the son G.E. Maller, because of a decree made by the government of the day, that all males aged 20 on the 3rd June 1939 must register for 6 months military training (on the 4th I would be 21 and exempt). SO, I duly signed on at the Local Labour Exchange. The postman arrived later in the week with a letter informing me to report to the TA Centre in Bath for a medical (travel warrant enclosed). I did not meet anyone I knew at the TA Centre so I just handed in my sample, saw the Doctor and as I was breathing at the time, past fit and told to wait for further instructions.

They arrived in due course and on Saturday 15th July I reported to The Wiltshire Regt Depot at Devizes and "Militia Boy" Pte G.E. Maller 10181028 had arrived (one & six a day). The memory of the first day is a bit blurred, but on Sunday 7 or 8 of us decided to go home to Swindon on the bus, much to the surprise of our girl friends who we had kissed goodbye **Forever** on Friday, I think out of a hundred only two of us were married.

Monday we queued at the quartermaster's store to be kitted out with the new type of uniform "Militia Dress" later to be known as Battle Dress, only one problem they did not have my size in boots a size 6, so I had to wear my civi shoes. When a photo of us on parade appeared in the Local Press my white socks out stood a mile, I have a cutting from the paper in my memorabilia. I was the first in Swindon to wear this uniform, as I stepped off the bus I was conscious of people looking at me as I walked down the town, I was glad to get home and change into Civis.

The first route march in my size 6 boots was a disaster, I had terrible blisters on my heels. Reporting sick to the MO, he examined them and asked if I had a lump in my groin (I thought it's my heels I'm worried about) then I realised I DID have a swelling, the poison had spread pretty quickly. I spent the night in the sick bay and returned to duty excused boots so I wore plimsoles and missed all parades, much to the envy of my mates. Optimistically I allocated 6p a day to my mother hoping that the government would supplement it, but no such luck, so that left me with 7 shillings a week, so there was not much spare cash for trips to Devizes for pictures or pubs, the Naffi came to the rescue, tea at 1p a cup.

Training was hard and the food adequate so the time past quickly, and we usually managed to get W/E leave, about 6 of us lived in Swindon and we used to hitchhike home and get the bus back to barracks. Hitchhiking was a matter of luck, outside the gate we would pair off and toss a coin to see who went first, the last pair away would cheerfully wave as they sailed past the front walkers. My best lift was in a bog Wolesey Saloon, I never asked where he got his petrol I just sat like Lord Muck and enjoyed the ride. My worst one was on a motor bike which had seen much better days but it got me home so I was very grateful.

Several Airdromes were being [built] around Swindon and we watched the construction of one at Wroughton on our way to and from Devizes, also an air raid shelter being built in the garden of a cottage in Beckhampton, we did not see the completion of either of them. My brother was a carpenter and left his job on a housing estate to work on an airdrome at Hulhavington FIVE POUNDS a week, we thought he was a millionaire. He was in the St Johns Ambulance Brigade, and later joined the RAF Medical Corp.

After the war I was stationed at Hereford I had lift to Gloucester where a young couple with their daughter offered to take me to Cirencester which I readily accepted, they must have saved their petrol for an afternoon trip, they said perhaps we could go on to Latton where an uncle used to work at the CO-OP Creamery then to my delight lets go to Cricklade (excuse me going off on a tangent but Cricklade brings back memories of school days when we used to cycle there in the spring to pick "Snakes Heads" in the meadow famous for this unique flower). Luck was with me that day they took me all the way to Swindon. So whoever they were and wherever they are I still remember their GOOD DEED. Devizes to Swindon was about 20 miles so us Locals decided we would cycle home. Occasionally my brother would be able to take me back to barracks on his Norton Motor Bike which always drew appreciative looks from lads arriving at the same time, it was every lads dream to own a NORTON made famous in the TT Races on the Isle of Man. Whatever happened to our motor industry? But that is another LONG STORY.

Being kept active the time past quickly and Sept 3rd dawned, I was leaning out of the 3rd floor window of the barracks listening to the radio of the ATS who were operating. Field Kitchens in the square below and heard Mr Chamberlain say "We are at war with Germany" a voice of a colleague said "We will now be classed as regulars and get "TWO BOB a DAY" and with my new number Pte 5571151 was in service. Being at war did not stop us having to spit and polish for Church Parade, my friend Jack had registered as a Methodist and was excused C of E parades, I think someone had put him wise to this when he enlisted. I remember it well, the Padre opened his sermon with the quotation "There is only one certain thing in life, Death". I forget the rest of the sermon, and what he was trying to prove. So we marched back to barracks wondering what the future held.

A few weeks later we were transferred to a field where Bell Tents had been erected and were to be our new homes while new recruits moved into the barracks. The field had previously grazed cows so a clean up operation was needed, it was about ten to a tent sleeping with feet towards the pole, inebriated colleagues (yes about once a week you could get slightly tidly on 2 bob a day) were not very popular stumbling in after lights out, and others answering the call of nature.

The only excitement at the camp was when our tent caught fire while I was at dinner some bright lads larking about. We blamed some new arrivals, young cadets of the Duke of Wellingtons Regt who nicked my cap and badge which I had just polished to pass Guard Room inspection, half a crown was also missing. Up before the CO next day the cause could not be established so we were let off the hook. I borrowed a cap but nobody had a jacket to fit me, (mine was burnt) so heart in mouth I showed my pass at the Guardroom gate on an unusually warm evening wearing a greatcoat (the button highly polished) passed OK and arrived home sweating profusely as I dare not walk with the coat undone.

Weekends at home we did not realize at the time that mothers were feeding us for free, plus giving us cakes and goodies to take back to camp which we shared with the lads who could not get home, it seemed we took Mums for granted, but it was appreciated.

Small arms training were a daily exercise and one day we were marched to an open air firing range on the downs to fire the NEW? Anti Tank Rifle, laugh. They only had about five rounds of live ammunition available. It had a fair old kick, and the sergeant told Tich (an apprentice jockey) that there was not enough time for him to fire it as it would take him five minutes to walk back to the gun. I remember the food rations that day included hard boiled eggs all black inside, even the birds turned up their beaks.

Oct 1939 our unit joined the 8th Worcestershire Batt at Marlborough about a 10 mile march (full pack). I was crammed with 6 others into a small room in a Sunday School not much space for beds kit bags and equipment etc. Being nearer Swindon it was easier to cycle home about 11 miles, on the return trip we had to climb Plough Hill but we were fit and if the wind was behind us we did not dismount. Plough Hill Nurseries were renowned for high quality tomatoes and local people used to look forward to the first crop arriving in the shops. I'm side-tracking again, after the war a work-mate said he used to do a "Tun" going up Plough Hill on his VINCENT motor bike not much traffic and no speed cameras.

I have said the rooms were small and one evening the Orderly Officer decided to have a rifle inspection, he swung a rifle round and broke the Gas Mantle (all mod cons in those days) some of the old soldiers used to put silver paper on their thumb nails to make the barrel look brighter (tricks to every trade). Tough training continued, exercises on the Downs and night manoeuvres in the forest. One exercise was to round up deer in the forest to a compound from where they would be transported to Scotland, as the area had been designated for military use. One morning a parade was organised to line a road into Marlborough as King George was passing through the town. Our platoon was lucky as we were the last ones to take up position so first to leave, which saved a lot of hanging about for a quick wave and a cheer.

The camber of the road in the High Street was considerable and very difficult to keep in line, especially when marching (on our best behaviour) to Sunday Church Parade. The residents were very nice to us always ready with a smile and a wave. A lady from a shop nearby gave us a gramophone and some records, a tune on one of them we used to whistle if we got separated in a crowd at night (the blackout was strictly enforced) and we would hone in together. After a football match on Marlborough College grounds we would swill off the mud in a stream near the billets (no hot showers in those days).

It was still the phoney war and Christmas 1939 arrived. The lads from Newcastle were getting travel warrants, I thought I'm going a few miles to Swindon so I booked for London which was ok as I could catch a train to Swindon and travel later if I wished. The sergeant saw us "Cockneys" away early, but caught the later lads for hair cuts. The barbers clippers were red hot as well the lads language. I cannot recall anything of that leave but on return to duty we were advised to leave our bicycles at home, and sure enough on January 15th we were on a ship in Southampton Water waiting to join the BEF in France.

That was 6 months to the day when we were going to celebrate going home after our taste of army life, instead of that I was on deck eating out of a tin of cold Machonicy stew. (I think I have spelt the name wrong, but he must have made a fortune supplying the armed forces with his brand of canned foods.)

Demob for me was 12th Feb 1946 as previously stated I forgot the past and lived a full happy and rewarding life, working hard and saving for retirement in Dec 1982. My wife and I planned to do so much when we retired but after leading a very busy life it was hard to adjust, after a few months we seemed to be organised when my wife was taken ill and suffered for 5 years. Although I knew it would happen I was completely shattered by her death, but always through her long illness and knowing there was no future, had repeatedly insisted that my life must go on. It was a very difficult time and family and friends were very understanding, a neighbour a long standing volunteer of the Meals on Wheels invited me to join the team. That is the way to see people worse off than yourself. One incident really shook me, a lady opened the door wearing my wife's favourite dress, I had donated her clothes to the Prospect Foundation who had looked after my wife (and me) with such care and attention. I also joined a Bowls Club and made many good friends. I became a member of The Royal British Legion, that is a brief summary of how I came to see the article in the BL Journal asking memories for a TV programme A Taste of Victory. Before we had a Taste of Victory we had the trauma of Dunkirk.

One of my sayings when asked a question I did not want to answer WAS "it's a long story". Some of my friends used to ask a question, then laugh and say "I know it's a long------" So perhaps it is time to tell a story. (THE DAY WAR BROKE OUT) I think that was Will Robey's Catch Phrase in 1914 before I was born.

I will restart my tale on the ship in Southampton Water, I did not keep a diary but these incidents remain in my memory and are triggered off by silly things like prunes, we had tin in a Red Cross Parcel and I sucked a stone for a day to relieve the pangs of hunger, sounds daft I know but it was crazy times.

We arrived without incident at Calais and were transported by truck to a village called Moncheaux and billeted in farm buildings with sleeping quarters in a loft over a barn. We had our Platoon Cook and if he burnt the food just added curry, which unfortunately stained the mess tins, with only cold water to clean them, still we survived. Training and digging tank traps (what a joke that turned out to be) kept us active and fit. Our first casualty was Roy from Bath, he was taken ill and died in hospital, his family wanted to pay for him to be buried at his home town, but the War Office turned down their request as it would form a precedent and unworkable as THEY knew thousands more would die in the ensuing conflict. It was a simple burial and we swore his death would be avenged, we did not know then how long it would take. Roy was a decent lad and the only one who could speak French.

It was a freezing cold few months and I mean COLD but we pressed on regardless. We had an empty petrol can at the top of the stairs and in the half light it looked OK for another Pee, unfortunately holes were bored 2 ins down for the wire handles, whenever I had Birds Eye Frozen Pease I think of the glazier down the stairs, the Duty Officer was NOT amused, but he did relent and we were issued with a Rum ration.

March brought a change of scenery and weather, we were transported across France to Metz by rail in cattle trucks (they had been cleaned) and with many many per wagon it was quite an enjoyable journey, the sun shining and with scenic views, war seemed a million miles away. Bob got a shock, he forgot he had taken his boots off and jumped on to the flint stones, a good job he was wearing thick socks, he still limped for a while.

Our billets just outside Metz were VERY old barracks so I was very pleased that the weather was fine and warm. Our previous trips for weekly showers was at the Lille Coal Mine Pit Head and they were filthy, but here we had the luxury of a first class swimming complex, it was really smashing, the first and only time I've swam in the noddy.

It was still the phoney war and we were sent to relieve the Black Watch in a deserted village in front of the Maginot Line. It was a boring time we seemed to be in limbo, doing a few reccies into no-mans land. On one occasion I remember crawling through a bed of Lilies of the Valley, they are supposed to be a hardy plant and spread quickly when planted, but when I was married I could not get them to grow in garden maybe it was punishment for the damage I did all those years ago. Nothing untoward happened except one morning the sun rising behind a wood it seemed as though the trees were on fire and one of the sentries sounded the alarm turning us out of our slumbers in double quick time.

I forget how long before we returned to Metz but Ted was really thrilled one day as a French soldier had showed him round a section of the Maginot Line, he was very impressed. One night we were confined to barracks as the French Foreign Legion were in town, I suppose The "Powers that Be" thought it better be safe than sorry. We returned to Moncheaux and were just settling into the old routine. When war really started.

The next period is best passed over, reading about war does not prepare one for the real thing. Our Colonel sent my mother a Christmas Card with a map of our movements, lower ranks did not have a clue of our whereabouts, towards the end it was utter chaos "Beating the Retreat" would be a good description. I remember an officer pointing to a pall of smoke in the distance saying "that is Dunkirk" it was the first time I had heard of that now "Infamous town". Some truck drivers with no hope of any petrol supplies were putting sugar in the tanks little did I realize that it would be a LONG time before I saw sugar again.

The final indignity came for me when about 8 of us were in a small barn with only a few rounds of ammunition between us were told by our officer that we would have to surrender. Kamikaze Pilots were later to make their name as suicide bombers, but he must have thought we could do no damage, so suicide would be useless. We had bayonets and spent many training sessions charging sacks of straw, but these were real tanks not the three-ply ones as shown at the start of the war as propaganda on the Pathe News at Cinemas. I do not know the make of the tanks, but talk about Blitz Krieg, they seemed to come from nowhere.

When the start started I naturally thought of being killed or wounded I hated the thought of being disabled, it really scared me, but being taken prisoner, not in my wildest dreams or should it be nightmares? It was the most soul-destroying moment of my life when we moved out into the farmyard, there must have been about thirty of us lined up and with the tanks swinging their machine guns to and fro I thought this is our lot, but glancing round I saw some German soldiers behind us and breathed a sigh of relief. We heard later that a squad of the Norfolk Regiment had been mown down in similar circumstances.

It is a bit hazy from now on I know we were herded into a field where we slept?? the night. We marched again and spent the night in a school room where I met up with Frank from the same platoon, we went to the same school but did not meet up again till we enlisted at Devizes neither thought we would finish up in such circumstances. Frank had a ground-sheet and I had a blanket which we shared when sleeping rough, a church was one venue, I tried sleeping on three chairs but finished up on the floor. Rations were poor, a bit of black bread and some very thin soup.

A disused airfield was another open air over night stop, and was that tarmac hard. I remember singing on route marches at home "We'll hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line" I recalled those days going through Siegfried Strasse in a small town and the women leaning out of the windows spitting at us.

The march seemed to go on forever, hungry and thirsty, no idea what the future held it appeared to be hopeless. Eventually we arrived at some railway sidings and herded into covered cattle wagons the doors shut and we started on a nightmare journey, with not much room only limited ventilation no sanitation it was beyond words. Quite different from our trip across France earlier in the year. Somebody kept track of the date and I had my 22nd birthday 4th June in unforgettable squalor. I do not know how far we travelled or how long it took, but it seemed forever. At last we stepped or rather staggered off the train and marched to Lamsdorf Camp which was to be the main Transit Depot for POW.

Passing a barbed wire compound full of RAF personnel I said to Frank "And all our planes returned safely" I realized later they were ground staff caught by the speed of the German advance, but that still did not help my morale. I forget how long we stayed at that camp, but they were more like stables than huts. Luckily the weather was kind to us.

One morning we had to queue for a haircut? that meant we were shorn, Alan was really proud of his blond curly hair and got quite upset, he had always kept just inside the short back and sides to pass the sergeant's inspection. There were no mirrors thank goodness we just had to use our imagination. Next we had to be documented and issued with alloy discs stamped with our number, mine was KGF 9911 to be my talisman for the unforeseeable future. My stomach was shall I say "disorganised" and I did not make to the toilet in time, I washed my under pants and hung them on the barbed wire to dry, but before I could retrieve them we were marched out of camp I waved to my washing (not on the Siegfried Line) as I left to whatever the future had in store for us.

The next venue was a place called Laband, we marched into new barracks, our hopes rose a washroom with hot water so we could wash off some of the grime. That evening the officer in charge made a mistake with the rations and gave us too much bread still not a lot but much appreciated, we were over the moon, deflated the next day it was back to watery soup and a small portion of black bread.

After a few days it was off again this time to a bigger camp Laband Stalag VIIB E1 which was to be our "Residence?" for how long we did not known (maybe it was just as well.) About 200 of us were allocated 20 to a hut, fitted with two tier bunks two pushed together and not much space between the next two but better than one camp I stayed for a few nights it had three tier shelves and the German officer made us sleep head to toe, it was not a pretty sight.

Organised into groups of about 30 we marched out of the compound to a factory building site our job was to prepare the ground work, the civilians were mostly Polish with German overseers. We had a new headache at camp LICE! We had all heard of them but to find them on OUR clothes was a frightening experience, every evening we had a delousing session squashing them with our thumb nails, where they came we did not know, a message came through from the Hierarchy that this practice was unhygienic and we must collect them and put them in a matchbox (obtainable from where) our thoughts on that were unprintable and we carried crushing, normal washing was useless so we had no option.

I remember our first assignment at work about 6 of us were detailed to push a railway wagon onto a siding, the German foreman started shouting "langsam langsam" we said "we are langsaming as fast as we ####### well can" we always managed to put an ING on the end (langsam means slow needless to say we remembered that word.

Good news at last new army uniforms arrived via The Red Cross that really boosted our morale we looked very smart and the greatcoats were a godsend. The Germans decided to capitalise on this and took group photos as propaganda, we had no option but to send them home as we did not want to worry our families. We had previously been issued with cards to send home but had no idea if they had been sent. Going to and from work we often passed Russian prisoners, they were in a sorry state but there was nothing we could do to help.

It was a very large factory site and involved lots of different tasks, including digging foundations and moving the dirt by skips to various places, we had to keep moving rails and over rough uneven ground it was very hard on the shoulders. Metal piping (no plastic in those days) was used to pump concrete from the central mixing plant to different sites, shifting these was hazardous they needed 4 men each side to carry them, lifting on to the shoulder was always a problem and over rough ground it was easy to trip up but so long as only one at a time stumbled the others could take the strain, when the front men went down a dip the middle ones had all the weight. Lowering the pipe was also a dodgy manoeuvre 4 men had to duck under the pipe so that it could be dropped clear, there were plenty of near misses and plenty of bad language, every pipe laid meant extra steps next time and we soon became knackered shuffling back to the start hoping that the other team had taken the final pipe. At the end of the shift after march back to camp we just slumped on our bunks and waited for the watery soup, black bread and a small portion sausage plus a tiny square of margarine to be issued, we also had a large tin jug of ersatz coffee per room.

Different things jog my memory, property developers have just moved on to the site of an old orchard opposite me (against the local residents wishes) and I watched the heavy lorries dump loads of sand and gravel then be reloaded with surplus clay, just a few bucket loads from a mobile digger and they were on their way. It takes me back to the building site and how long it took 8 of us to load and empty Railway wagons, mind you we had the "LANGSAM" syndrome down to a fine art, although some times we had to work faster or freeze to death.

It was funny when we had a guard who would look away when we were leaning on a shovel the foreman was always on hand to chastise us, and when the foreman was lax the guard was the vigilant type we never seemed to get two good ones together, it's called Sods Law. A few times when we knew the guard wanted to get home early we would suggest that he squared it with the foreman that when we had unloaded a wagon we could finish. We had to be careful in case they wanted us to work at that speed all the shift which would be impossible to maintain.

Seeing a welders visor triggers another memory, it was on a night shift still unloading sand wagons, awaiting for a few one to be pushed into place I nipped away to try and contact a civi I was hoping to do a deal with, cigarettes for bread, unfortunately he did not turn up, so my hopes of a HIGH tea was thwarted. If it had been chocolate for exchange I might have been tempted to eat it, but I was not going to smoke the cigs they were much too valuable a commodity. A welders visor was on a bench I could not resist the temptation to stretch out using the visor as a pillow, I dozed off dreaming of Mum's cooking and home comforts, waking with a start I nearly fell off the bench, I got back to the wagon before I was missed otherwise there would have been trouble. I was 17 on my own at Weymouth on holiday when I gave up smoking.

As a family I had been there on the GWR's annual TRIP WEEK old Swindonians will remember the exodus to the seaside. One year my sister wanted to go with her boyfriend, I think Mother said "only if you take the boys" (how times have changed) so my brother and I tagged along as chaperones. We had a lovely week I remember the fleet were anchored in the bay it was a marvellous sight, my brother and I booked for the Searchlight Display, it was fantastic it lit up the whole town, people on the beach could be picked out easily, the only problem my sister was worried sick not knowing we had booked the trip and were late returning. Next day we visited the Battleship HMS Hood what a wonderful ship we were amazed at the overall size and the huge guns. How was I to know that I would be in a POW camp when I heard the news of the sinking of this great ship. Naturally the guards were Cock a Hoop and we had no answer to console our dismay. Back to my holiday alone I really enjoyed myself, swimming sun bathing and going out on rowing boats, life was great. One evening strolling along the prom I thought I'll have a smoke "Big Head" so into the shop I went "a pipe and a packet of Long Tom tobacco please" and I remembered the matches. So I strutted along the prom proud as punch. Back at the digs it was a different story I was really ill. En suite in those was a chamber pot and a jug and basin, I managed to contain the mess and did not soil any bed clothes or furniture. The landlady was very understanding and did not press me to have any breakfast. That finished me smoking I think it was the best buy I ever made, I had the occasional cigarette when I was in a crowd and not wanting to be the odd one out but I never inhaled. Dad thought it was a much better present than a stick of rock.

Another night shift over and no bread when I got back to camp still I still had the cigs for another try fingers crossed. There was a buzz round the camp when news of mail filtered through, this would be the first time we would know if our families had received the cards we had sent previously. Mine had arrived on Sept 2nd 1940 my sister replied immediately and it reached me on Nov 21st 1940 I have typed a copy on a separate sheet as it is a bit fragile. Her handwriting was really good as was my parents, whereas my brother's like mine was "is" terrible.

Over the years the mail was very erratic sometimes it would be two deliveries in a month then a long gap, which left us very despondent. It was the same story whenever mail did arrive, we would dive on our bunks to open the letters and hope for good news. It was always sad to see the dejection on lads faces when the mailman gave out the last letter and said "that's your lot" and they were left with nothing. We all shared our news so there was plenty of chatter in the hut, Terry who would have been classed as a tough guy fainted onto his bed, his letter said his mother had died, what can you say to anybody in those circumstances. An Australian who we knew had five children (he had been abroad over 3 years) received a letter from his wife to say she was expecting another child, he wrote back I suppose I've had some good times overseas so let him run with the pack. I suppose that is the philosophical approach. After so many years of absence it was inevitable that "Dear John" letters would arrive and another photo would take its place on the notice board behind the door. I was lucky that one of my letters from my father (Dad never wrote he always left it to my mother or my sister) was late arriving, my sister's letter posted after Dad's told me that Mum was staying with her after an operation and was progressing very well. Dad must have been in a terrible state as he told me Mum was seriously ill and to expect the worst, so I thought myself extremely lucky.

One very windy day it must have been force 10 I was being blown along to the TOILETS. Which consisted of a long bench seat with holes over a deep trench (when it was being emptied by a long handled ladle into a horse drawn large barrel to be spread on the adjacent fields the smell was horrendous) and when the wind was in the wrong direction it was close the windows time. Paper was in short supply and I was just thinking sorry mum but I had to wipe my bum when a gust of wind blew the letter out of the adjoining hole and into space, I thought if only I had wings.

I do not remember the date when the first Red Cross Parcels arrived, but they were very welcome our dreams come true, shame they were so long in coming (we forgot a war was still in progress). We were usually in pairs called "muckers" (how that word came about I've no idea) and we shared everything, when it was a parcel between two it was easy but between three it became complicated. Tea was brewed with great excitement, and with powdered milk it was divine, it was dried and boiled again till it was just hot water but who cared we had tasted tea after all those months.

Over the years it was always a tremendous atmosphere in camp when Red Cross Parcels arrived. We had soon discovered that there was a market for all the times in the parcels, top ones Chocolate and Tea, cigarettes, soap and clothing came later from personal parcels, these items compared with the bread we obtained by bartering with the civis were a real luxury.

When a parcel from home was opened everyone gathered round, if a pullover (lovingly knitted by a mother or sister) was held up, somebody would say that was worth a couple of loaves. The trouble with big items the deal had to be made over a few days as only a small quantity of illicit goods could be smuggled past the guards at any one time, it was always a worrying time as the civis were also scared of getting caught. Lots (too many to mention) of ingenious ideas were used to beat the searches on entering the camp on returning from work, it was a matter of luck whether you had a guard who did not care or one who was really keen.

It was always a difficult decision to make whether to flog something for bread and risk losing out on the deal or enjoy the exotic taste of chocolate or a wash in real soap. I do not know what the German issue was made of but it was impossible to get lather. Tea was a luxury that had to go for bread so Mr Brook (E) Bond had some satisfied customers among the Polish workers. They always pronounced the "e" which we found amusing.

I was dreaming mother was calling up the stairs that breakfast was ready, and a lovely smell of fried bacon was wafting into the bedroom. I woke up to see a chappie had opened a small tin and was cooking rashers on the stove. What rude awakening, the aroma was making our nostrils twitch and our stomachs rumbling. Those two rashers would have made a lovely sandwich, but he had NO bread still he was thankful for small mercies.

A RAMC orderly was in charge of the sick bay for a few months, he was a decent chap and could speak fluent Spanish, Italian, French & German, but when a Geordie went sick he needed an interpreter. We were told one day that he had left the camp, no reason was given but we thought he had Jewish connections and worried about his fate, we never did find out.

Morning call was the guard banging as he unlocked the door, then whoever was on coffee duty would be away to the cookhouse. If you had saved some of your bread rations you had a slice for breakfast, still the coffee was hot. Cafes these days advertise All day Breakfast, I literally had one of those. Coffee a slice of bread and two dried prunes the last remaining item from a Red Cross Parcel I threw away one stone, then thought I wonder how long it would take to suck away the stone (silly idea but it was crazy times) anyway maybe it would keep the juices flowing. End of the shift I said to myself that experiment was a waste of time, as I spit out the last of my breakfast I kicked it into a pile of sand. I've wondered since where it is in that concrete jungle.

There were no good jobs on the site but some were not as bad as others. Filling cement bags from a big hopper was in the warm and dry, but who wanted to be covered in dust with no face masks issued, "What a life?" One task was cutting turfs into rolls, it seemed as if they weighed a ton at the end of the day, we used them to line the side of a drainage channel which encircled the site, we used to enjoy watching the swifts diving and swooping over the water feeding on the flies. I shut my eyes and pictured myself strolling alongside the local River Ray on a Sunday afternoon and thought how long before this happens.

Rain was a problem we still had to carry on working, one of us could sometimes plead sick and the guard IF he was in a good mood would let him shelter in the hut. It was on a night shift and belting down with rain we all decided not to leave the hut after our ten minute break till the rain had stopped. The guard pleaded with us but we stood firm, TILL the German duty officer arrived, in a bad temper being called out on such a filthy night, he flung open the door shouting "Raus" and fired his revolver into the air, we had no choice but to troop out, the first away was the laddie who was sick. Arrived back at camp wet and dispirited entered the hut the day shift had just left, you could cut the air with a knife, but it was warm and we were immune to it and to add to the atmosphere we put all our wet clothes to dry by the stove before we slumped on beds completely knackered.

It was a good job we thought the bombing of London was propaganda or we would have been devastated. The failure of the Dieppe and St Nazaire raids plus bad news from Africa made our hopes of getting home seem farther and farther away. We still thought Churchill would win and set us FREE.

Snow wind and frost, the elements were against us, and why they sent us out one night I'll never know. The railway truck full of gravel had been in sidings a few days and was frozen solid. We found an old oil drum put it on top of the gravel and lit a fire, with sparks flying everywhere we had to be careful not to burn our greatcoats as they were worth their weight in gold. They made super blankets at night (when they were dry).

New arrivals were always bombarded with questions, I walked into a hut and asked anyone from Swindon a voice said yes, I thought good there will be fresh news from home but I was disappointed he had been in Palestine since 1936 and with no close family he had not taken any home leave. When war broke out he said they still had horses, he was in the Blues and Royals. He was transferred to a tank regiment, captured in Africa he came to Germany via Italy so we still had lots of talk about I could tell "him" news of Swindon.

It was a monotonous life I suppose. Working helped to keep us sane, all we seemed to think about was how to implement our meagre diet by fair means or foul. Weekends was laundry time trying to eke out the soap situation. I have forgotten to mention that a delousing unit did arrive at the camp some time ago, we put all our clothes in the big cylinder and steam was pumped through, it certainly solved a problem. The only snag was returning from day shift the night shift had been Done, BUT, they, without asking us had thrown all the straw palliases out for burning, we slept on bare boards for a week before the German officer decided to order a fresh supply.

It was surprising how some events can raise morale. Musical instruments arrived courtesy of the Red Cross, it certainly gave us a new topic of conversation. Roy got six lads organized to form a band and with dedicated determination devious manipulations intrigue bribery and corruption, they made bow ties to set the standard, and music stands with really professional emblems emblazoned with "ROLLS ROYSTERS" they certainly did the camp proud. The German officer in charge let them us an empty storeroom for band practice (no noise abatement societies in those days).

Again with great ingenuity a stage appeared and so did curtains, from where, we did not ask. A concert was arranged and we seemed more relaxed than we had been for ages. Roy, The Master of Ceremonies said the band would play tunes from around the world. Scotland said Roy cheers from the Jocks, Wales applause from the taffies, America, Germany loud boos, England roars of approval, Hung-a-r-y with yes we ******* well are. Never a dull moment.

Another quirke of my memory, I forget the verse of the song, I was told it was composed by a POW anything different was a welcome escape from reality. The band played this song, it was quite a catchy tune and being a captive audience we were easily pleased. It was the tale of little boy going to bed and singing this song to his Gran

Oh sing me to sleep with a swing song

And I'll be a good little boy

You may not be Bing

But you must give me swing

That's the only rhythm I enjoy

Oh you give me grey hairs

With those three teddy bears

And the silly little pigs that went to market

Oh I don't give a dime

For your old nursery rhyme

So sing me to sleep with a swing song

A group of us walking round the compound one evening saw George at the door of his hut start to play his bugle, after a few moments we thought he can't play those tunes on a bugle, and when he stopped playing the music carried on, his mate on the trumpet did not get stop signal, it caused a laugh which were thin on the ground in those days.

A concert party was formed and a Pantomime was put into production "Cinderella". We were amazed at the quality of the clothes and scenery and really enjoyed our evening of fun and laughter. I only remember one gag. The ugly sister said to Cinderella "No you can't go to the Ball just sit there and stop your yelling, your job's here Kartoffell schelling (German for potato peeling). It was great propaganda for the Germans and photos were taken which we duly sent home. No photos of us on night shift in freezing weather and meagre rations, well they wouldn't would they.

Geordie Fairlamb was in the next bed to me and as an accordion player you name it he could play it, he was brilliant and always ready to visit other rooms to cheer them up.

Boils was another affliction I could have done without, the ones on my arms I could sort out but the one on my neck was agony, lots of suggestions were given, and Ted said his brother was a surgeon and took two match sticks (he must have meant his brother was a Tree Surgeon) and deftly removed the yellow core, the lads looking over his shoulder was like students in a hospital theatre only no gowns or masks, if it had not been so painful it would have been funny. At least the offending core was incinerated, my neck healed eventually but I had the scar for years.

Being in such a confined space for long periods, arguments were inevitable but were usually resolved and forgotten next day. One I recall, Fred a spirited lad and Harry with a placid personality were having a slanging match and Fred offered Harry "to come outside" with the doors locked and no room to fight inside the argument fizzled out. We knew Harry was a Londoner, but we also found out he was an ABA area champion. It caused a laugh when Fred said "It's a good job you did not take me up on my offer". My mucker at the time was Harry, he was a Docker at Deptford docks and used to regale us with tales of his life at work. We took some of it with a pinch of salt but on the whole it was interesting and passed away a few hours.

An incident at work was nearly a disaster, Harry was an expert on handling timber and unloading a railway truck he tipped a load over the side, one of the lads instinctively pushed the guard out of danger, much to the disgust of Harry who said he had planned the "accident". Maybe it was just as well as the repercussions would have been upsetting and inconvenient and the guard wasn't too bad a guy.

At the end of one day shift Fred was working with a civil gang on some scaffolding and did not realize it was time to knock off, seeing us lined up to move off and not wanting to be in the "Dog House" instead of going the long way to a ladder he decided to climb down a rope that was nearby it was OK till his legs lost their grip and he slid down the rest of the way. He landed safely but his hands were badly burnt, he was in agony on the match back to camp till he could get first aid. Next morning asking how he was he replied that he was off sick with his chest as the smoke had damaged his lungs. Always a joker in the pack.

Over the years we had to absorb lots of bad news the ease which the Germans were progressing into Russia, the success of the U-Boats in the Atlantic, the fall of Singapore, Pearl Harbour, set backs in Africa, the loss of Crete there did not seem to be any good news, it was only the Red Cross parcels and those from home that kept us going. It was a good job we did not flog all our warm clothing for bread as the winters were deadly, no matter how many layers of clothes we put on the cold seemed to creep through. The lack of vitamins did not improve the situation.

The Red Cross had supplied some football kit and somebody had the idea to name our huts after football teams, so boards were obtained and the sign writers got busy, our hut was Leeds (because we had six Yorkies?) we only played one match against another hut, but at least I can say I played for a first division team.

Rumours started that some of us would be moving camp and there was much speculation as to where and when. Eventually it was confirmed and off we set once again into the unknown. It proved to be a camp in the centre of a nearby town Gleiwitz. First into the billets grabbed choice of beds I usually went for a top bunk. Again it was twenty to a room. The camp was smaller than Laband but the facilities seemed to be OK. With the new venue it meant we had to make fresh contacts to flog our precious goods. Where there is a deal to be done you will always find a wide boy they are now called entrepreneurs. Why didn't I think of this. A bulk delivery of cigs and chocolate bars gave us 3 gigs and one choc bar each. A wide boy went into hut one sold his choc bar for 3 cigs in hut two he gave 2 cigs per bar, sold them for 3 cigs in the next hut, and so on and finished his round a happy man. Two lads had good contacts (I think they bribed one of the guards) anyway it was sometimes safer to deal with them than directly with civis.

We were to be employed at a Brickworks which luckily was close by and not too far to march. Not knowing what to expect we entered the gates with fingers crossed, being used to filling skips, we saw a new challenge, big wheelbarrows and I mean Big being effortlessly trundled around by the civi workers. The jobs were varied, thousands of bricks stacked everywhere. These had to be loaded onto railway wagons as they were special fine bricks for furnaces, handle with care was stressed by the Fore lady, she made us form a chain, how many depending on the distance from the wagon. So off we went passing two at a time, you had to keep in rhythm and if you fumbled one the next was on its way so it was best to drop them and carry on regardless. The bricks had to be evenly distributed on the floor of the wagon, and Anna the fore lady (she was always dressed in long black clothes) would keep checking to make sure we had put enough straw packing and the numbers were correct. She was not a bad boss, I think she was half German & Polish and had to be worried about her job. We used to joke with her and call her an old witch. We knew enough German to get by, doing deals etc so after a few weeks we laughed when she wagged her thumb & finger at us and said she knew what we were calling her, so one of the lads gave her a big kiss and said "yes but you are a lovely one".

We missed having no music in the camp not even a mouth organ, so nothing to cheer us up when we returned from work.

Making the bricks started from scratch, railway wagons loaded with special stones had to be unloaded, and this is where the wheelbarrows came in, carry bands were issued and placed over one shoulder it was possible to control the barrow. The stone was tipped into a big crusher then on to a mixer and the clay was moulded into brick shapes placed on a conveyor belt for us to fill the racks in the massive kilns. The fronts were then bricked up and we had to wheelbarrow coal to feed the furnaces. Although now experts on the barrows we never seemed to have them full enough to please the boss who was a little chap but always seemed to be everywhere. When the bricks had been "cooked long enough" the entrance bricks were knocked down and the kiln allowed to cool down. Sometimes the foreman wanted a batch urgently and we would have to move them when they were hot, they issued us with hand flaps but it was not our favourite job. Filling a railway wagon with rubbish (wheelbarrows in action again) was one of the better jobs, one day the lads on the wagon decided to make a false bottom so it was only two thirds full. When it got to the weighbridge the boss nearly did his nut, as it was in a line of wagons he could not do a thing without it.

The perimeter wall overlooked a main road about thirty foot below and some days we would see Jewish women sweeping the streets, they had Big Stars on the back of their clothes, it was a pathetic sight and made us really depressed.

Some days we had a change of scenery, we marched off to a sand quarry, issued with shovels and proceeded to load skips from the sand that had previously been blasted down. Four skips were in use and we pushed these along rickety rails to a conveyor belt loading a railway wagon if the guard was not looking we could sometimes only half empty a skip, which pleased the lads feeding the belt, surprisingly?? It was amazing how often the belt broke down. Jim was caught in a sand slide buried up to his waist, you never saw shovels move so fast, he was unhurt but it taught us to keep our eyes open. It was a lovely summer "weather wise" and we had several spells here away from the works.

But winter came all too soon and what weather I thought I'd seen cold at home but this was COLD and no hot meal on the table and an open fire to warm your feet when you got HOME. Blizzards were blowing and roads blocked, so off we were sent snow shifting in Gleiwitz we had to keep working or freeze. One pretty sight amused me about thirty fountains cascading into the snow, that was us relieving ourselves before heading back to camp. They did not last long Frost Bite was a hazard to be avoided at all cost. It was not a march back to camo more a slip and slide. I never thought I would see the day when I would be REALLY pleased to see the Barbed Wire Gates open to LET ME IN, but being tired, hungry, extremely cold, sopping wet and miserable the thought of my bed however austere was a bonus that I could crawl between the blankets and let mother nature whisk me away to dreamland (I only wish she would give me some decent ones).

Andy (an Australian) acquired?? some ice skates asked what he was going to do, he patted his nose and said "wait and see" he flooded part of the compound near the toilets which quickly froze, it was not a very big "rink" but large enough to show off his expertise and drew loud applause from his captive audience. A couple of guards enjoyed the show, but the officer was not happy and promptly confiscated the skates. Still it was fun while it lasted.

One evening a few of us were torturing ourselves suggesting meals we would order at a restaurant. Roast Beef, Lamb, Chicken, Pork, Duck, then Dan said Mixed Grill that was out of my league, before the war Fish & Chips was my usual meal when dining out. Just after the war, having a meal out with friends, I spotted Mixed Grill on the menu I thought Ah! Dan's special. What a disappointment the meat was as tough as old boots, I still ate it. After all these years I still shudder at the food wasted at Cafes and Restaurants.

The Germans were jealous of our Red Cross Parcels and on the excuse that we might be storing food to escape used to make random searches of the huts. We had to be continually on the alert as any white bread bartered from the civis had to be quickly hidden. Some guards would make a cursory search while others would turn everything upside down. One search they confiscated all indelible pencils, apparently at one camp the lads had boiled them to dye a uniform, never a dull moment.

One day having nothing better to do I had written our names on the locker door. NEALE DUTTON MALLER SYNDICATE. The guard said "Ah! Four men" It caused a laugh.

Although the weather was atrocious we did not seem to catch coughs or colds, I had to be the odd one out, I woke one morning with a terrible sore throat I reported to the sick bay and returned to the hut, after the lads had gone to work the camp Medic came in and said the German officer was worried it might be contagious and was sending me to a Hospital at Katowitz (whenever I hear that the English Football team is playing in Poland I think of MY visit). The doctor checked my throat, asked the nurse if there was a bed free, the answer being in the negative I knew it was back to camp.

It was a sad sight walking down the corridors passing young men on crutches, some with head wounds some had only one leg others who had lost both legs being pushed around in wheelchairs and glancing into wards rows and rows of patients in beds. (And me moaning about a sore throat I felt quite guilty). Back at camp I was prescribed some BIG tablets they certainly did the trick I was back at work in no time.

Although we had more atrocious winters and the last three months of captivity in unmentionable conditions, I did not have any problems until late 1951. My Doctor kept giving me penicillin tablets which I kept at work when my throat flared up. On one visit the doctor thought I would get immune to the treatment and suggested having my tonsils removed. 18/12/1952 I reported to the local hospital, I had given my particulars to reception and nurse turned to a couple and their four children, looking at the children she asked "so who is going to stay with me for a few nights" the husband said "it's me". We both felt awful after the op, and the first meal was Beans on Toast looking at each other both of us pushed our plates aside. In the bed to one side of me was a farmhand who had been gored by a bull, I told him he should work on a modern farm. The other side was a RAF lad hit by a propellar, I told him he should be on a modern airfield. (Nobody loves me) A RAF acquaintance of mine, in hospital with a broken leg said he had to tell lies to some visitors. As if he told the truth they might think he was taking the Mick. He fell off his bicycle on the Parade Ground.

It was an monotonous life and anything different however trivial was a bonus. I do not remember the date but on an evening roll call we were ordered to take off our boots and socks (we all laughed and said "divide by two") Later we found out that RAF personnel were not allowed on working parties so some of them exchanged identities with army lads. Douglas Bader had smuggled his way onto a camp and this was the German way to trace him, they must have been successful but we never heard anymore. We had a RAF Navigator at our camp for a few weeks but as there did not seem any hope of escaping he fixed his return to Lamsdorf.

Red Cross Parcels were like a breath of fresh air blowing through the camp. I had done a deal for some White Bread and with a tin of Nestles condensed milk I sat on my top bunk as if I was in the Hilton. That was one of the five "meals" I vividly remember, the first was a few days after I was captured, on a disused air field (at least the sun was shining) we were issued with a bowl of warm water with bits of fat meat floating around, at least it was food. The third one, I had acquired some potato peelings and boiled them ready for breakfast, with that thought in mind I slept like a log. The fourth was a disaster, the Camp Commander decided that a bulk supply of assorted chocolate type powders that had been delivered by the Red Cross, they included cocoa, drinking chocolate, bourn vita vita cup etc should be all mixed together and heated in a big vat. It was DELICIOUS greedy me I went back for a second helping. Much too much for my unready stomach, I was really ill, the doors were locked for the night so I was sat on one bucket and vomiting in another, it was not a pretty sight. I survived and was at work next day. The fifth I will tell you about later.

Rumours again we are on the move, where we cannot find out. When we did it was BAD news the dreaded coal mines. Bosses at the Brick works thought that fifty Ukraine women could do the work of us hundred POW. I think the real reason was that we were breaking too many bricks. Another medical? exam, again I was breathing and passed fit for whatever was in store for us. We arrived at a camp called Klimontow, it looked fairly new so that was a bonus. In the Canadian Red Cross Parcels were tins of powdered milk trade name "Klim". So backwards our camp name was Wot-no-milk, appropriate as we had not seen liquid milk since before we were captured. I only saw one apple, where they got it from I never knew, but three lads were sharing a bite at a time, we all waited to see what happened to the core, they ate it all.

The mines were not gas so no need for canaries but WE all had butterflies in our stomachs but too scared to show our true feelings. Issued with overalls, helmets and a numbered acetylene lamp which was our security check we disappeared into the shaft, 300 mtrs down we entered a new world. The roof near the shaft was quite high so first impressions it was not claustrophobic but when we were detailed into the seams 6ft by 6ft it was a different matter. 60 yds along a tunnel was my first contact with the coal face, the mine drilled 4 holes across the bottom and 4 at the top and 4ft in the detonators were then rammed home with special clay collected from between the seams of coal. Alcoves were cut into the sides for shelter when blasting was in progress. Sometimes my mate and I would say we counted one short and that worried the miner, as to leave a live charge was dangerous. The lower fuses were shorted so blasted first, the top layer dropping on top, then we had to shovel the coal onto the conveyor belt which ran down the middle of the tunnel. One shift the miner was lighting fuses he said (I have not spelt this correctly but "nee eggy" means it won't go) I said "no but I'm *********** eggeing" we always added ing. The fuse did light and he joined me in the alcove. Then it was back to loading the belt. We had no serious accidents only minor incidents. I entered a seam off the main tunnel fixed my lamp on a pit prop, then I heard timber cracking I flew out to the tunnel as the warning calls were echoing around, a rabbit being chased by a ferret would not have run quicker. My lamp was lost in the collapse I was shaken but not too disturbed. The area was sealed off and work continued as usual. Jim had a similar escape he had a butterfly tattoo on his back a civi asked to see it and that delayed his entrance to seam that had a partial collapse it was soon sorted and work restarted.

Two days later three of us headed for the shaft genuinely thinking it was the end of the shift, we had no watches they had been flogged years ago, we realized we were early when the head foreman stepped out of the shaft, my two mates vanished, I was not quick enough. "What are you doing here" he asked, in my best German I said "I'm just starting night shift" I was covered in coal dust so perhaps that was why he did not believe me. I showed him my new lamp numbing hoping it had not been reallocated, no such luck I had W/E in solitary confinement.

It was a pity they could not reverse the conveyor belt, we had to drag the pit props from the shaft to the coal face, it entailed attaching a wire to the prop then putting it round your waist and dragging it along the tunnel, with a ventilation pipe fixed to the wall and coal moving on the belt there was not much room to manoeuvre.

I will miss a long period of time which was a "black" era for me, and go to the 6th June 1944 going on early shift the guard told us the Allied Forces had landed in France, we were over moon, and home for Xmas was AGAIN in our thoughts (how many times had we said this will be our last Xmas?) we dare not think of it being another Dieppe Raid. Singing Seig Hiel Seig Hiel Hiel Churchill as we descended into the depths with renewed hope. The camp was buzzing when we returned, everybody talking excitedly and praying it would be a success and speedy at the same time. News was very scarce we just had to hope and pray that no news was good news. The Germans were not doing as well as they expected on the Russian Front, that gave us a glimmer of hope.

On the move again, sadly to another mine. It was in a small village called Cozeladz (I think). The camp was reasonable and we soon settled into the old routine, work, scrounge for food and sleep. I managed to get a job underground at the shaft taking empty wagons out of the lift and loading the full ones. It was hard work and hazardous as the full wagons cams onto the sidings at a fair old speed, many got derailed, if they were not quickly levered on to the rails it could cause a real pile up and in a confined space that was not funny.

I was then detailed to another coal face that really scared me, it was like entering a huge cavern, around 20 ft wide and 15 ft high ladders were needed to fix the pit props, luckily I only did a couple of shifts on that section, 6 x 8 seams suited me better.

I knew that the Jews were being held at various camps and we were not very far from Auschwitz. The only time I heard the word mentioned was by a Polish Charge Hand, there was some sort of problem at the pit and he said if he got the blame it would mean Auschwitz, I said is that bad, he looked furtively around drew a finger across his throat and walked away, he must have been OK as I saw him later but I thought it better not to ask him again. I did not know the full horrors at the time but it seemed nobody dared talk.

We were lucky to have ample hot water for showers at the Pit Head they were in big open rooms with about 40 shower heads suspended from the ceiling. Lucky we did not know at the time that similar rooms, only using gas instead of water were used to exterminate the Jews.

Time dragged on but two lads thought they would liven up the camp, it was not going to be a GREAT ESCAPE but at least they did try. Some wire cutters were acquired?? And the fencing cut earlier in the evening, then with look outs for the guards away they went. The top bunk next to mine was dummied up for roll call (lots of us turned in early before lights out to try to forget our predicament) so I just stood by the bed hoping that the guard was not the regimental type. Unfortunately they were caught before being missed. I suppose they were sent back to the main camp but we never found out. The Commandant had us on parade and gave us a strict lecture that in future anybody trying to escape would be shot.

We were all fed up with coal mines and wanted to move, but news from Lamsdorf was varied, if you could get in on the rackets so well and good, otherwise it was not good, we thought of the old adage (better the devil you know). One lad was really desperate and got his mate to pour boiling water on his foot. Later on another lad did the same. We had a young RAMC Doctor in charge of the sick bay and he advised us against any further repeats as he could not get any more suitable medication. The next brainwave a lad got his mate to chop his finger off, everything was well sanitized and healed up quickly and he was soon back at work (he was not a happy man). This was not at our camp so how true it is I don't know but a lad nicked some stuff from the sickbay that froze his finger, which he put in boiling water, he left it long enough to be cooked. I've often wondered what happened next.

I cannot remember when we were first paid "wages" I know it was not in the first two camps so it must have been late 1943, how they worked it out I have not got a clue it was called camp money, it was not on a regular basis and with nowhere to spend it, it seemed useless, I know the payments soon fizzled out, I saved a couple for souvenirs and think I gave most of them to friends who played cards. I discovered too late that the wide boys saved their winnings and changed them for sterling on return to England (I was no good at cards so would have lost them anyway). When I checked my "Back Pay" on demob I thought I was short changed but was so pleased to be home I did not bother to enquire. I found out later the Ministry had deducted a percentage of our money without giving us any information, they claimed we had earned money as prisoners. Protests were made to parliament but to no avail.

I will spare you any more sordid details of mining and jump to Xmas 1944 my 5th one away from home. Surely this MUST be the last. News was patchy but we knew the Germans were having a tough time against the Russian advance and we were warned we might be on the move again. I had "borrowed" a carry band from the brickworks and made up a small haversack, we did not have much in the way of "luggage" but it was easier to carry when we moved. For a few days we thought we heard sound of gunfire, how far away we could not judge. But the orders came we must pack up fast and evacuate the camp, I think it was about the 26th Jan 1945. What was in store for us we could not hazard a guess, with destination unknown. Red Cross Parcels had arrived a little earlier so we had packed a few rations and hoped for the best.

We marched through the gates with mixed feelings, it was into the unknown and we had been in that situation before and we were not happy. The first night was in a big hut, we slept on the floor but who cared, so far so good but after that it was utter chaos we just trudged along resting sometimes on the roadside. Three or four nights billeted in barns, some more draughty than others. We realized we were in for a tough time, we did not have many guards and they were as disgruntled as us. No point in escaping we had no idea where we were, and it was safety in numbers we hoped. The small rations we started out with only lasted a few days and we had to rely on the meagre rations doled out by the Germans.

I remember at one point early on in our journey looking down a winding mountain road and seeing other groups of POW, so it seemed we were not the only camp to be on the run from the advancing Russian army. Just when we thought things could not get worse, it started to snow, I have seen all sorts of snow but this was like powdered milk and blew into every nook and cranny. What a relief to have a covered barn when we finally stopped for the night. It was only the will to survive that kept us going. After 5 years we did not intend to give up the ghost, there was nothing we could do but keep ploughing on, for some lads sickness prevented them from continuing, what happened to them we did not know.

It was like a bad dream, we lost track of time, two or three days in a barn then off again sometimes we could supplement our food by stealing some potatoes otherwise we would have collapsed completely. At one VENUE? the guard would not open the door for us to have a pee so we had to go against the door, in the morning they had to chip away the frozen pees to open the door (whenever I have Birds Eye) I think of that cold winter morning, I can smile now but it was not funny at the time. Fortunately the snow ceased to fall but it was still bitterly cold, there was no alternative but to stay as a group and press on regardless.

At one point we had to cross a river somebody said it was the Danube only it was not blue. A motor launch was moored by the jetty it did not look in very good condition but we had no option but to embark, it was definitely overcrowded and we were very pleased when we reached the other shore.

We did not visualise hearing the drone of planes, looking up into a cloudless sky we saw about five or six Flying Fortresses heading in our direction, we clambered down the side of the bank and hoped they would miss us and thankful no bridges in the vicinity. There was only one casualty a guard had his hand badly damaged, Jim said serve him right evidently he had reneged on a deal.

Eventually the weather improved and we could take stock of the situation, it was not good we knew the Russians were advancing at speed but could not get any firm indication whether it was American or British forces in our sector. The guards were getting edgy and the possibility of us all being shot did not make for happy thinking.

It must have been about the middle of April we stayed at one site for nearly a week which gave us time to recoup, a stream was nearby and with the weather warmer it was lovely to strip, bathe in the water and feel clean, considering we had not taken our clothes off since we started (crumbs that was January) we must have looked a funny sight splashing around in the noddy. Feeling clean was a real stimulant, if only we knew when would be the next time. Some of the lads painted POW in white on the roof of the barn hoping the Allied Planes would be able to see it and hold their fire.

The guards told us the American advance was speeding up so our hopes soared, but the nagging thought prevailed would the retreating German forces come in our direction, if so what then. Not a happy situation. The farmer complained to a guard that his potatoes were being stolen the reply was "you should worry the Americans will have your farm soon".

On the move again this time to a large marquee on the banks of the river Izar, by this time some of the guards decamped hoping to find their way home, the ones left behind looked bewildered not knowing what action to take. Food was really scarce and we could not decide what to do. It was a nervous experience waiting, would it be the Yanks to our rescue OR?

On the 29th or 30th of April the cry went up "Look tanks on the hill" friend or foe crunch time. All was well it was the Yanks they asked us if there were any SS in the area or if any of the guards had ill treated us it seemed the SS were fighting a stiff rearguard action. The tanks moved on as the support troops arrived, our guards handed over their guns relieved that for them the war was over. Yanks supplied us with food and drink, WHITE bread it was like manna from heaven.

Trucks ferried us to a fresh location, we met a convoy going forward to the front line and we waved wishing them the best of luck, I felt guilty going home while the battle was still raging but knew that I was in no fit state for modern warfare.

My mate found out the direction of Regensburg and we set off across the fields, a shell landed nearby, friend or foe we did not know, but thought please not after five years, but no more landed and we arrived safely. The town was disorganized as the Americans had only just taken charge. Directed to the Messerschmitt Office Block we found lots of POW already installed, not finding anyone we knew it was a case of sorting out a space to park our few belongings and survey the situation.

After being issued with rations we retired early, hard floors did not deter us from having a good nights sleep our first in freedom for five years. Breakfast, not just ersatz coffee we still could not believe it. Going for a relaxing stroll around town we saw a FOOD warehouse it was too much of a temptation, entering through a rear access we gazed in awe at so much food, only to be confronted by a large Yankee Military Policeman pointing a machine gun at us saying "can't you ****** read". Not being conversant with the OFF LIMITS sign we had ignored it. We were threatened with being looters and shot, but he relented when we explained and told us to stay away in future.

My memory is faded over the activities of the next few days, I know we ate drank and dreamed, wondering how we would find our families, knowing they would have no news of us for months. Instructions came for us to arrange ourselves into groups of 25. As that was the quota each Dakota would carry when evacuated. I was in group 25 so I was way back in the queue.

The fighting was still intense although we were well behind the front line. Ambulances ferried the wounded to the airstrip to be flown out. It was awful champing at the bit waiting for our turn  but we knew we were the lucky ones at least being fairly fit.

Old habits die hard and although we had plenty of food one of our group arrived with a goose I never asked how he acquired it he just said the farmer was not happy, but was told politely to get lost, having the knowledge, I volunteered to prepare it for the "Table ha ha". My mates helped me pluck it. After it was cleaned and dressed (no golden eggs unfortunately) no problem with the cooking, a large container was found in the canteen and we BOILED it. "the goose" a cask of beetroot was breached and a good time was had by all.

Next day a voice shouted look there are hundreds of planes arriving, rather an exaggeration, it was about 25 enough to clear my group. I think it must have been the first time any of us had flown, the nearest I got to flying was in 1937 or 1938 Alan Cobham's Flying Display Team arrived at Penhill on the outskirts of Swindon but I could not afford the 5 shillings for a flight.

I clambered aboard the Dakota clutching my homemade holdall with the few possessions I had managed to hold onto over the years. The memory of the flight is rather vague but I do remember flying unhindered over the Rhine not realizing how many lives had been lost by troops fighting their way across that well known river. It was an uneventful flight and we landed at Rheims, disembarking, we were told volunteer crews of Lancaster Bombers from Lincolnshire had flown in to arrange for our evacuation.

Milling around in a disorganised crowd I made my way towards a plane where a RAF crew member was throwing out Mae Wests, I managed to grab one and joined the queue waiting to embark, the lad in front of me was turned away, no life jacket no flight, my luck was in I had taken the last jacket, I was over the moon. I was really excited clambering aboard not in the least bit worried about the lack of seats. I remember hoping the bomb bays were empty. No windows to wave goodbye from only belts of ammunition weaving round the fuselage, it must have been a complex operation reloading.

Feeling "PECKISH" that is a delicate word not used for 5 years, I was always ***** hungry, and being excited to eat on the other plane I took my WHITE bread and BOILED GOOSE sandwich and enjoyed a perfect lunch. I have flown many times since on flights including to Canada and return on Concorde, dining while at over 10 miles high and at supersonic speed. Fantastic. But the White Bread Boiled Goose sandwich is still my favourite memory of a Flight Cuisine. Just as I had finished eating, the gunner in the centre turret asked if I would like to see the White Cliffs of Dover, I could not get up quick enough, what a sight, my heart turned over after 5 years this was IT, then to crown it all Winston Churchill's voice came crackling over the radio with his Victory in Europe speech. What a day to remember.

We landed at Westcott Airfield (near Oxford) thanked the crew as we disembarked and were shepherded to a building, taking behind some screens and dusted with DDT powder although I was clear of the little fellows, the cold must have killed them, it nearly killed me. The usual tea was served (very welcome), rank, name and number etc duly noted. Next it was boarding a truck to Beaconsfield I did not know or care where it was on British soil.

Getting dust as we pulled up outside a Village Pub celebrations were in full swing, our driver asked to stay on the truck and drinks were soon handed up, so used to sharing we took a swig and passed the glasses round. One of the lads in a jubilant mood threw my hat into the crowd, a pity I had become attached to it.

With memories of an early parade

        Squad squad shun

        Eyes right

        Eyes front

        Stand at ease

        Stand easy

        Pick up your caps

        GOOD GRIEF WAS THAT 1939

A shout went up look a train, I thought what is so funny about that? Then I realized all the lights were blazing, after so many years it was a lovely sight.

Beaconsfield was a complex of Nissen Huts in a wood, after a meal and being shown my quarters I slumped on my bed and slept for an hour, only to be awakened by some lads distinctly over the limit, and very very merry, I thought jealously will get me nowhere, and promptly fell asleep.

I woke up early took my soap and towel and headed for a wash, having no idea where the washroom would be I spotted a stand pipe, stripped to the noddy and was enjoying my wash when a passing corporal said "You can't do that" I said "Too late mate it's done". After breakfast (it seemed strange sitting at a table having a civilised meal) the memories of just a mug of ersatz coffee forgotten. Dinner was different, the lad next to me jogged my elbow and said "You are home now mate" I was eating my meal with a spoon (old habits die hard).

Particulars registered etc it was off to the clothing store, a new uniform, the old one had lasted over five years so it had lots of memories. Volunteer ladies were on hand to sew on badges etc, it was lovely to meet smiling faces and know they were enjoying helping us and we were extremely thankful for their dedication. I filled in a telegram form, but as everyone was on holiday it would not be delivered till next day. Considering the camp had only just started sorting out arriving POW they must be given credit for a very efficient service.

Next morning, money in my pocket, train warrant stowed away, I boarded a truck to the station. My memory of the train journey is dim but I do recall walking to the bus stop only to find it had been moved and I realized my nerves were in a shocking state. In a brand new uniform I must have looked like a raw recruit, asking a lady if this was the right stop for Rodbourne she said "yes, are you on leave?" I said "yes" that was the extent of my first conversation in Swindon. I felt embarrassed waiting, but the bus arrived at last, I gave the conductress half a crown and she gave two and six in change, I was too embarrassed to say anything, but found out later that they did not charge troops.

It was about 1/4m home from the bus stop and it was very eerie nothing seemed to have changed, a very funny feeling difficult to describe. I saw a lady I knew and said "Hello" whether she remembered me I do not know. My parents had my telegram earlier in the day but had no idea what time I would arrive. The front gate was missing (taken away for the war effort) but Mum heard the front door and flew down the passage hugged and squeezed me before I could put my bags down. Dad beaming all over his face but with a quiver in his voice said "Hello Son" which covered a hundred words. Neighbours said mother never gave up hope that I would return safe. My sister called her 4yr old daughter who said her party piece perfectly "Hello Uncle Gerald ever so pleased to see you" we have been good friends ever since. She had been told that I would be coming home by boat, and wanted to know how it would get up the street.

Having had no privacy whatsoever for 5yrs it was difficult to adjust going out alone. Mother thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown, but I quickly recovered. A few days later returning from my sisters a VE Day party was being organised and I accepted their invitation and returned later to enjoy the food and celebrations. Where the food came from I did not ask. The Mayor had a busy time visiting the many Parties around the town. My civi clothes were ready to wear, mother had preserved them without the use of Mothballs for which I was truly thankful. It was lovely to get on the bike and go wherever I pleased. Mum and Dad cycled miles while I was away without problems, trust me to get puncture second time out.

A letter I was expecting arrived in due course, from the War Office. I was to report to a depot in Berkhampstead for a rehabilitation course. The train journey was uneventful and I did not meet any of my old colleagues it was the same as the camp not one familiar face. Lots of us troops disembarked from the train and army lorries transported us to the camp. On entering we saw a squad who seemed to have a trouble marching, next day I knew the reason. A morning on the parade ground and time in the gym, I ached all over (not as fit as I thought). My next move was to Chilwell nr Nottingham for a few weeks then off again this time I was given a home passing to Malmesbury it was easy cycling to Swindon so I was quite pleased. As a VRD depot the vehicles mostly Jeeps were parked on the grass verges around the country lanes, I was in a group assigned to keep the batteries sorted, which kept me mobile and occupied. One day my mate and I were a bit late arriving for dinner, we thought the atmosphere was a bit tense and discovered that the ATS contingent said the dinner was rotten so everybody had to close ranks and boycott the meal. I thought back over the last 5 years and shuddered but did not say a word as nobody who had not been subject to those conditions would understand.

VJ Day I joined the celebrations in the town square, at last we could say the war was really over, although not soon enough for the Jap POW. I remember a RAF lad with a leg amputated bravely attempting to dance with the rest of the revellers, it was certainly a day enjoyed by everyone.

My next Port of Call was Hereford. I was getting used to new camps but still had not met any mates from my old prison camps. The few weeks to Christmas soon passed and I headed home with a spring in my step. 5 missed Christmasses meant a lot of catching up. My haversack contained festive fare, a nice cut of Topside of Beef and a bottle of Red Wine. Don't ask where from. I thought if anything red drips from the luggage rack it will be either Blood or Wine. I arrived intact and helped fill the larder. I added more to Mum's table when I visited the farmer I became friendly with when I was stationed at Malmesbury. He gave me a rabbit and some eggs. My brother Colin who had served in the RAF invited himself to dinner as his wife was expecting their first baby. He brought a chicken which was added to the larder. My first Xmas dinner for 5yrs I was really enjoying the luxury whereas Colin was just picking at his food eventually Mum said "for Petes sake go and phone" so he jumped on my bike and pedalled off. Baby daughter arrived in the afternoon, that meant I had to remember a birthday on Xmas day, my Sisters on Boxing and her Daughters the day after.

Eventually I was Demobbed on the 12th Feb 1946. I collected my Civis from a depot in Gloucester. And with 119 days leave ahead, what will the future hold?

EPILOGUE

HINDSIGHT that word says wonders, what different things I would have done and not done but that is all in the past. I saw a programme asking for A Taste of Victory memorabilia I only intended to say I was high over the Channel on the 8th May 1945 in a Lancaster Bomber when I heard Winston on the planes radio give his Epic Speech PEACE in EUROPE but finished up writing over 30 pages.

Three things haunted me during my 5 l-o-n-g hungry years. One, when I was at school we always had meals as a family my Sister Brother Mum Dad and me. But after we started work things changed and it was staggered meals. I was just finishing a lovely tea, spreading home made jam on home made fruit cake, Dad walked in looked at the plate and said "You'll live to want my son". Many a true word spoken in jest. Two, 6 of us were on spud bashing fatigue at Devizes Barracks and nearing the end of the pile, Tom who had a date in town said "come on step on the small ones". He came in later that night with a smile on his face enough said. Three, The phoney war was still on (April 1940) and in a deserted village house in front of the Maginot Line rations arrived including large oval tins of fish, as they did not look very palatable, Tom suggested we put them in the wardrobe, but what was it full of? Large oval tins of fish.

I smile when I see Cigarettes KILL. They saved my life. I flogged them for FOOD.

I only showed the original draft to two people, Les whose birthday is the same as mine, we met when we enlisted at Devizes. He got back from Dunkirk but returned with the liberating forces in 44 and my niece who I mentioned earlier. They said it was OK (Well they would wouldn't they).

The following pages are an extract from the diary of Alan Forster a POW who kept this record of his march from Gleiwitz to Regensburg. It was given to me by his Nephew Bill Forster. I was on a similar march from and to the same towns but had no idea of the distances travelled. Under the conditions we were subjected to I'm amazed he was able to keep track of the days and mileage.

The place names in the diary are the German names in use at the time and are often abbreviated or spelled incorrectly. Where known the correct spelling of the German name and the name used today (Polish or Czech) are given in square brackets but some names are either illegible or their present day equivalents have not been identified. I would appreciate help in identifying these places and would like to hear from others who followed this route and can add to the account given in the Diary.

DATE           DISTANCE     PLACE

19 January     ?                      Dombrowo [Dabrowa Gornicza]

20 January     40 km              Beuton [i.e. Beuthen, Polish Bytom]

21 January     20 km              Gleiwitz [Gliwice]

22 January     20 km              Heidrechtstadt

23 January     40 km              ?

24 January     20 km              Guad..f?

25 January     34 km              Neudorf [Nowa Wies]

26 January     15 km              Posnitz? (a barn off the Jugensdorf road)

27 January     ?                      Wechen

28 January     0                      Rest at Wechen

29 January     20 km              To Don..er farm

30 January     24 km              ?

31 January     ?                      ?

1 February     ?                      ?

2 February     24 km              ?

3 February     25 km              Rabendorf [Rabow Zanikl]

4 February     20 km              Blauda

5 February     ? (Total 328 km)    Celleschan

6 February     ?                      Nieder Hermanitz [Hor Hermanice]

7 February     25 km              Rathsdorf

        ENTERED THE CZECH PROTECTORATE

8 February     12 km              Wilderschaut [i.e. Wildenschwert Czech Usti nad Orlici]

9 February     ?                      Rest day (at Wilderschaut)

10 February   ?                      -

11 February   16 km              Chotzen [Chocen]

12 February   17 km              Ceberjellen

13 February   0                      Rest day (att Ceberjellen)

14 February   14 km (Total 432 km)    Bycsta (?)

15 February   13 km              Crossed Elber at Patowitz-an-die Elbe [i.e. Pardubitz, Czech Pardubice], stayed village 2k from Elbe & 11k from Konigsgratz.

16 February   ?                      Rest day

17 February   16 km              Leibca

18 February   14 km              Unter Gutwasser [Dobra Voida]

19 February   ?                      Rest day

20 February   18 km              Aulibitz [Ulibice]

21 February   35 km              Uber Bousow [Dol. Bousov]

22 February   ?                      Rest day

23 February   14 km              A village, Rep, by a town, Jung Bunzlau [Mlada Boleslav]

24 February   29 km (Total 571 km)    Kropatsch Urutitz [Kropacova Vrutice]

25 February   ?                      Rest day

26 February   20 km              Tunsein

27 February   14 km              Ilosein

28 February   ?                      rest day

1 March         24 km              Dallen

2 March         14 km (Total 643 km)    Jetschin

3 March         ?                      Rest day

4 March         24 km              Kirchen

5 March         20 km              Peterburg? [near Saaz [Zatec], see map in diary]

6 March         ?                      Rest day

7 March         16 km              Grossfarwitz

8 March         20 km              Deutschkmeit

        ("turned off Karlsbad [Karlovy Vary] road at Buchau. Now heading for Marienbad [Marianske Lazne] it's said 14 days approx to a Stalag")

9 March         ?                      Rest day

10 March       ?                      Rest day

11 March       25 km (Total 743 km)    Neudorf by Potchau

12 March       ?                      Rest day

13 March       ?                      Abaschau (4 km from Marienbad) [Marianske Lazne], via Tachau [Tachov]).

14 March       20 km              Waschengrian, 4 km from Plan [Plana]

15 March       ?                      Rest day

16 March       26 km              Haid

17 March       17 km              Rosshaupt [Rozvadov]

18 March       ?                      Rest day

19 March       18 km              Moosbach ("a village 5 km off the main road")

20 March       17 km              Shamenreith ("a village 3 k off the main road 7 k from Weiden")

21 March       ?                      Rest day

22 March       11 km (Total 877 km)    Weiden ("an outlying part, we bypassed it & are in a barn about 3 k out")

23 March       ?                      Rest day

24 March       ?                      Rest day (awaiting transport)

        BY TRAIN

25 March                               Scherwandorf, rtd to Schwarzenfeld

26 March                               Marienburg, Neumarkt, Regensburg (stayed at Nieder Fraubling, outside Regensburg)

        27 MARCH - 22 APRIL: NIEDER FRAUBLING

23 April         30 km               Tiefenbau

25 April         ?                       Village, name left blank

26 April         ?                       Remain here until - 30 APRIL

        "I SHALL REMEMEBER THIS ANNIVERSARY ALL THE REST OF MY LIFE FOR THIS MORNING THE AMERICANS ARRIVED TO FREE US."

1 May           ?                        Rottenburg, then to isolated farm

2 May           ?                        Regensburg

11 May         ?

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