Staff-Sergeant Henry Charles Brett

Unit : Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers

Served : Crete (captured)

Army No. : 7593534

POW No. : 26049

Camps : Stalag 383

Stalag 383 Hohenfels

After becoming a POW in Crete, the Jerries flew us back to Greece. Because I was still sick, I was taken to Kokinia Hospital. This had been taken over by the 5th Australian Medical Division who had elected to stay there with the fall of Greece.

In October of '41 after three months in Kokinia Hospital, I was put on a boat together with the remaining nursing staff and patients, in fact, the whole hospital unit, including the surgeons. We were taken to Salonika and put into a large camp where we stayed for a couple of days. Then we were loaded onto a cattle truck and transported into Germany. After several stops we eventually landed in the Polish corridor just outside of Thorn. I was put into an old Prussian building known as Fort 15 Stalag XXa. Here we were to spend a bitterly cold winter.

It soon became known to us, that people of rank such as sergeants and above were not compelled to work for the enemy. [Note: In the summer of 1942, the Third Reich finally agreed to the section of the Geneva Convention that stated Sergeants and Warrant Officers should not work as POWs. As XXA was a work camp and that nearly 6000 Sgts and WOs were in captivity, the Reich decided that Oflag 3C should be converted to a non-working camp for Sgts and above. Harry, along with many Sgts from XXA and all other camps were moved in September of 1942 and the former officers' camp in Bavaria renamed Stalag 383] So we were eventually sorted out and in mid April, we non-commissioned officers and warrant officers were transported by train to Hohenfels, Bavaria, to finish up in what used to be a Hitler Youth training camp. To us it became Stalag 383, where we would remain for what turned out to be, the longest three years of our lives!

There were in fact, about seven thousand of us prisoners in all and about fourteen men to each hut fitted with double bunks. This is where we were to spend most of our time with nothing much to do. The worst thing for us, was the terrible boredom and it wasn't long before different communities organised various pastimes. One such group was a concert party that, under the name of the National Theatre, performed some very successful productions of The Mikado and the Pirates of Penzance, at about six monthly intervals.

We all engaged in a variety of hobbies. As for myself, I assisted a fellow prisoner, who had been a watch repairer by trade back in Civvy Street. We were given a small hut situated between the inner and outer gate. With equipment sent to us via the Red Cross, we would mend the watches belonging to the camp personnel. At the same time, we were forced to sign a document that we would not escape. However, we had an agreement that this would be automatically cancelled once back inside the camp.

Eventually we took over another hut where, together with a pal, Staff Sergeant Hunt, known to us all as Tiffy, we formed the Stalag School. Here we ran a course called Internal Combustion Engine Repair and Maintenance of Motor Vehicles. This was so successful that we were to carry this on until liberation. Once again, the necessary equipment was provided by the Swedish Red Cross. They sent their representative, a gentleman by the name of Mr Borg, who used to visit our camp from time to time. It was he who provided the essential books to enable us to carry on with our studies. We were actually allowed to take City and Guild examinations. I personally took the 68 A, B and Final, all in one go! I passed out first on the A and second on the C which was electrical and passed out fully on the Final in technology. This was just one of the ways to keep our minds occupied.

Various other things were going on in the camp as one can imagine. Although we were not compelled to work for the Germans due to our rank, if there were any penalties issued we were the ones to take the brunt. This proved itself to be the case when, during a raid on Dieppe by the Canadian Army, some German soldiers were captured, probably with the intention of gaining information. Their bodies were later washed up on the shore still wearing handcuffs.

By way of retaliation, orders from the Fuehrer decreed that all Canadian prisoners of war, plus all those non-workers of Hohenfels, were to be handcuffed every morning on parade and to remain like that until roll call in the late afternoon. Machine guns were suddenly posted at the four corners of the sports field. We had no idea what was happening until, during parade, the Stalag Kommandant gave us an explanation. He seemed however, somewhat concerned and apologetic that as a direct result of the Dieppe raid, he was forced to carry out certain instructions.

As there were no handcuffs available, rope had to be used. However, David MacKenzie who was our camp representative, and known to all as 'Our Man Of Confidence,' advised us not to panic and try to make a joke of it, which of course we did! So when the guards were tying the ropes onto our wrists we would squeal and say it was too tight. Some of us would crawl on all fours and make noises like goats and sheep. As our wrists were not bound too tightly together, in fact there was about a twelve inch gap between each hand, some would bend over jumping back and forth using it like a tiny skipping rope. The Kommandant turned to our representative and remarked, "I will never understand the British sense of humour! And MacKenzie replied,"No, but it's the British sense of humour that will beat you in the end!"

However, when the guards arrived as usual the next morning to tie our wrists, there wasn't a rope to be seen. They had all mysteriously vanished. We were to later find out that the Escape Committee had needed these for hauling out the earth from the two tunnels that they were secretly digging. Chains were next used, these had to be locked onto our wrists, but it wasn't long before somebody devised a means of copying the keys, so we were able to unlock them at will.

After a while, the Kommandant, a short, tubby good natured man, more of a soldier than a Nazi, came to accept this and we had an agreement that unless an inspector was coming to the camp we were not compelled to wear them. From then on, each morning the guards would bring in the chains. After making a note of the number of men within each hut, they would hang up the unused chains beside the door and there they would remain, that is, unless an official or Gestapo agent was due on an inspection.

Eventually, this practice which proved as much a nuisance to the Germans who had to carry this out, would serve as an excuse for a very different purpose. Every morning, a large squad of Jerry guards would arrive and after entering each hut in pairs, on the pretence of chaining the prisoners, would then get down to the more serious business of the day.

Then out of their pockets, would come items of all description. Anything from a flute to saccharines! In exchange they would demand soap, cigarettes, cocoa or whatever else they required. The chain gang had become a cover for the rackets and how sorry we were when it finally ended! This meant that, unless a man was prepared to risk his life by dangerously hanging about at night to do his bartering, whilst at the same time trying to dodge the searchlights and guns trained upon the barbed wire fence, he would have to pay through the nose for racketeered goods on the camps trading marts.

As we were situated in the heart of the countryside, MacKenzie asked the Kommandant if we could go for regular walks outside the camp, of course under guard. But he would not allow this, because we refused to sign a document stating that we would not escape. By way of a protest, we arranged to have what we called a 'Mad Week.'

To start this off, we were all told to stay inside our huts before roll call, which took place every morning. A bugle used to sound at a quarter of an hour before the actual check. Normally we would make our way onto the sports field which doubled as a parade ground and where we were only allowed at certain times of the day. Then with only five minutes to go, a bugle would sound again and everyone was supposed, at this stage, to be lined up in their various companies ready for inspection. But on this particular day when the first bugle sounded, there was no sign of anyone in the camp. The Jerries began to look around frantically and guards were immediately posted once again at the corners of the sports field. Then to their surprise, at only five minutes to parade we all rushed out of the huts. Some of us had lengths of string tied around our waists, as if we were harnessed like horses to chariots. We charged onto the sports field and got into line, bleating like sheep and just generally acting the fool.

Another thing we did, was to make up the empty Red Cross boxes to look like radios and we would sit on the grass making out we were tuning in. This would bring the guards rushing in, to find that they were only made with cardboard and twine. We got up to all sorts of tricks!

Eventually, the Kommandant had a meeting with our team of medical staff who ran the hospital, which was situated outside the camp. In charge was Major Neal, and a British surgeon called Major Brookmore, who came with us from Kokinea. It was decided at that point, that we should go out in parties of two hundred at a time on half hour walks, provided we signed to say that during these outings we wouldn't attempt to escape. This time we agreed and things returned to normal.

The Stalag Camp was surrounded by double fences made of barbed wire. Planted between the gap were lethal spikes of wire embedded in the earth. Overlooking these were five high watchtowers, manned day and night with searchlights and machine guns. Prisoners were not allowed out of their huts at night except for a call of nature. Even so the searchlight beam was so powerful that it would follow a man on a trip to the latrines and then light his way back again. Inside the wire were the much hated guards known as snoops, accompanied by their fierce, prowling dogs. The guns from the tower would always be primed ready for use. Even when a P.O.W. unwisely put his hand through the first fence to get some grass to feed his pet rabbit, he was shot in the arm by a trigger-happy guard.

Despite this, various plans of escape were always being hatched. When a German uniform was required this proved no problem to the Escape Committee. They took a suit belonging to an Australian soldier and dyed it the same shade as the German uniform. Next they took some silver paper to sew around the collar and epaulettes. With dummy pips to indicate a certain rank, plus ribbons of cardboard on the breast, it was extremely convincing! To complete the outfit, a belt was made out of Red Cross packaging and then stained with shoe polish. Fortunately, the man who would be wearing this spoke fluent German. He and a fellow escapee, also dressed as a soldier, were issued with dummy passports and fake identity cards, also documentation for entering and leaving the camp. Unfortunately, they had only got as far as Stuttgart when they were picked up.

Even so, other escape attempts continued. Many tunnels were dug but only one actually managed to get right the way through. But whenever Jerry discovered these, we would refuse to fill them in as was our right, and so the French prisoners would have to do this. Incidentally, the French were treated very badly indeed!

One of the most spectacular escapes was, as usual, the result of a combined effort by the Escape Committee. This took nine months of meticulous planning. Two men, Norman Drummond and Eddie Freestone, would be dressed up as a professor and his wife who were supposed to be travelling from Copenhagen to Vienna University for the purpose of studying veterinary science. The ultimate goal was for the couple to escape from Hohenfels, reach Vienna and from there make their way via Hungary and the Balkans to Syria and eventually reach the Allies.

Both lads spoke German well, and a fellow P.O.W. who was a Palestinian soldier and had lived in Vienna for some time, helped them to acquire the correct local dialect. As well as instructing them in the necessary geographical details, he also provided them with invaluable knowledge as to the correct behaviour when conversing with German civilians. Michael McCallen, R.A.C.S (King's Regiment) who was known as Hohenfels very own Scarlet Pimpernel, and would later receive a medal for his services in captivity, used all the artistry within the camp by gathering all the woodcarvers, signwriters and ex-forgers together where, under his direction, perfect copies of German passports and police permits were produced for the use of any potential escapees.

During our time spent in the watch repair shop, we discovered how to make a compass by the use of a magnet. Naturally, the production of this extremely useful instrument would prove itself invaluable to the Escape Committee.

Elaborate plans were being put into place for this latest escape. Nothing was left to chance. Eddie had even grown his brown hair long especially for his role as the woman. A fellow prisoner was responsible for teaching him how to apply his face make-up, and another tailored a smart suit from spare blankets. This went very well with Eddie's three-piece outfit, the high-heel shoes and stockings had come from one of the camp shops. It was unbelievable the way that the markets could produce almost anything! To complete the transformation, a weekend case was added containing silk undies for the lady and clean collars for the professor.

Fellow Australians, Steve Paton and Ted Young, worked out the actual method of escape and stage managed the whole operation. The couple would be smuggled out in the sacks of waste paper and empty packages left over from the Red Cross parcels. Whenever this rubbish began to accumulate, it would be taken outside of the main camp by our own men, under German escort, where it would be stored inside a locked building to await the arrival of the refuse cart.

Everything went according to plan. During the night the couple managed to escape from the rubbish store through a fan light, together with their luggage, which had also been smuggled out under the very noses of the guards. Their roof top escape, an almost impossible feat in itself, was actually accomplished whilst dodging the searchlights that swept constantly across and on top of the building. Although they were surrounded by jackbooted guards who always patrolled the area, hardly daring to breathe they thankfully made it to the woods. At the end of a nail-biting. day spent in hiding they changed into their disguises and after burying their haversacks containing their discarded clothes, with their hearts in their mouths, the professor and his wife made their way towards the station.

From there they bought their tickets for Regansberg. On arrival there, without managing to arouse suspicion, they went to the booking office and ordered further tickets to Vienna. They purposefully travelled the 450 kilometre in the corridor of the train to lessen the risk of becoming forced into a conversation with the other passengers. Next came a tube ride to the Donau Canal district of Vienna to the cafe where they had planned to meet their contact. Unfortunately, to their horror, there was a Gestapo raid on the premises and the couple were recaptured.

After undergoing a brutal interrogation at S.S. Headquarters where they bravely refused to give away any information, they were then transferred to another already notorious prison camp, a distribution centre for the various concentration camps, where they almost starved to death. Eventually, they were returned to Stalag 383 still dressed in their 'getaway' garb, to the cheers of their fellow prisoners. Never was a lady so keen to kick off her high heels! However, as a punishment for escaping they were forced to spend fourteen uncomfortable days in the cooler. This was a very inhospitable cell block serving only black bread and a 'soup coloured' water. But even this was preferable to dying of starvation or disease, inside the now infamous Vienna Zuchthaus!

So many things went on in the camp to eliminate the sheer boredom. Some would play chess and other board games. I learnt to play contract bridge. There were six companies in our camp, roughly a thousand to each section and we became quite proficient at this game. Tiffy Hunt was my partner. We played together so often that we developed a sort of sixth sense between us. On a few occasions, we actually sat for a full 24 hours, only stopping for the check parades. Although Jerry used to turn off the electricity at 10 pm, we would still continue to play right through the night by candlelight, much to the annoyance of those who wanted to sleep.

During that period when we were getting our Red Cross parcels through regularly, some of the lads decided to make some 'jungle juice' as they called it. They used the raisins that came in the parcels, mixed with other ingredients including yeast. This was put into containers and left to stand by the fire, in the centre of the hut to ferment. Then with the pieces of tin from the empty food cans, they built a distiller that actually worked! I know for a fact that the first few drops were so potent, that they used it in their cigarette lighters to act as fuel! I never did touch the stuff, but some of our fellows were going quite mad through drinking this. However, the medical team decided to destroy the distillery or the whole camp would have been in chaos!

On another occasion, I recall being intrigued to see some of our lads tying stones onto a length of string to act as weights. They would swing these ropes round and round, before releasing them, to fly over and catch onto a stretched piece of wire. At that time we couldn't make out what all this was about, but we did find out later, and so did the Germans!

During the winter months, fuel became extremely short. Volunteer parties from each group, were allowed outside to bring firewood back into the camp. As well as desperately trying to keep ourselves warm, we were also attempting to thaw out the freezing washing, permanently suspended from the rafters and now hanging in stiffened poses like grotesque dancers in some ghostly ballet.

There again, these parties were only let out on the understanding that they would not attempt to escape. However, they were all well aware that if they had disobeyed, they would have undoubtedly been shot! On one of these firewood expeditions, they brought back some young, fir saplings. The lads would use these for pole vaulting practice and Jerry took no notice of this.

That is until one night, when all the lights around the perimeter suddenly went out, plunging the camp into darkness. It appeared that the Escape Committee had found out, that these searchlights were apparently being run on only two wire cables. On that particular night, instead of tying the weights onto string, wire was used which caused the lights to short. There were about five men who pole vaulted over the double-barbed wire fence in the blackout and got away for several days. It became apparent to us that the Jerries had rumbled this, when French prisoners arrived to put in an extension on top of the wire, so instead of an eight foot fence, we were now surrounded by a twelve foot one!

During our time at Stalag 383, we had a rough time at the beginning and a very rough time at the end. But the two and a half years in the middle, when we were still getting our Red Cross food parcels through, plus those from home, we were comparatively well off! Each man received a red cross parcel to the weight of about 6lbs. As well as supplementing the essential vitamins missing from our German rations, luxuries were also included like a large packet of biscuits, chocolate slabs and sometimes sweets. Some parcels came from Canada and others from England. Both would contain bully beef, salmon, sardines, prunes, raisins, dried egg, coffee, tea and powdered milk etc.

Our daily rations issued to us by the Germans were as follows. One slice of black bread, one pat of margarine (often not available) plus a few small potatoes. There was also a watery kind of soup, usually of an unrecognisable flavour! Even worse was a white, processed, almost tasteless, foul smelling, type of cheese. To wash it down, we were given some twigs for brewing into a kind of mint tea. With this uninspiring and meagre menu, you can see just how necessary our Red Cross parcels were!

My particular friend was Tom Jennings, a Brummy lad, and we would share everything by pooling the items from our food stocks. We would start the day with tea and biscuits. This would have to last us until after roll call, always a tedious procedure that could take anything up to three hours. Then at midday, the quartermaster of our hut would dole out our soup ration. This would usually be eaten with our bread allowance and followed by another mug of tea, (the Red Cross sort when possible!) Treats from these precious parcels would keep us going until the next meal.

Everyone's favourite main meal was a dish known as Stalag pie. This potato based hash could be made of all sorts of ingredients. It would include any food we could racketeer from the German guards. Perhaps a tin of meat or fish mixed with swede and finally topped by a layer of mash potato and browned in the oven. Supper was usually a steaming mug of cocoa, yet another treat by courtesy of the Red Cross.

Some of the 'wise guys,' as we called them, started up a market outside of the huts. Of course, this was not possible during the winter months, when after continuous snowstorms, the ground was either a quagmire or a frozen sheet of ice. But during the milder weather, these camp shops provided a great deal of interest. Hut doors would often be removed for use as counters, to be fixed back on again at night. The merchandise would perhaps be a shirt that someone had sent out to them from home. It might be offered for sale or even in exchange for cigarettes. Then again someone else might want to actually buy cigarettes. Of course this market would fluctuate. When cigarettes were plentiful a new shirt would probably cost you a couple of hundred, but when the parcels were unable to get through to us, making these extremely scarce, you could possibly buy the same shirt for about ten cigarettes. It was the old law of supply and demand!

During the summer we had a little German boy who came into our camp. He must have been only about twelve years old and it was his job to clean the metal chimneys that went up through the centre of each hut. He used to climb onto the roof of each hut and drop half a house brick down the chimney tied to a length of cord and then he would come down into the room and pull it through. That's how he swept the chimney, at the same time making an awful mess inside the hut. Whenever he entered the room, he always held his arm up in the German salute and said,

"Heil Hitler!"

"No, said one of our fellows, "Heil Churchill!"

With that the fellow held up a cigarette,

"Heil Churchill!" insisted the man.

Unable to resist, the lad grabbed the cigarette and shouted,

"Heil Churchill!"

The same fellow held up another cigarette and he said to the lad,

"Bugger Hitler!"

Of course, the lad who was unaware of what he was saying, held up his arm and obligingly repeated, "Bugger Hitler!" much to the amusement of all the other prisoners. The word soon got around and the lad must have gained a pocket full of cigarettes by the time he left the camp!

These things that went on seem so ridiculous now, but it's hard for people today to imagine just what went on due to sheer boredom. There were some lads who didn't take part in anything. They were the ones to suffer mental breakdowns and had to be admitted to the camp hospital suffering with what we called 'barbed wire fever.' It would seem that the boredom had broken their spirit rather than the Jerries themselves!

Football played an important part in our lives. We English had our own team, as did the Australians, the Scots and the Welsh. There was quite a competition at that period. Football gear came through to us via the Swedish Red Cross, who also provided the necessary equipment for other sports such as boxing, cricket and rugby. But at a later date, when food was becoming scarce due to the parcels getting fewer and fewer, none of these activities could go to their full length as, due to the meagre rations, we did not have the energy to play for full periods. Also, because of the lack of vitamins, sprains and breaks took weeks to heal.

Several of the prisoners were spending their time in model making. Some really smart things were turned out like model churches and boats etc. An art exhibition was held in one of the camp schoolrooms and an official from Munich was invited by the Kommandant to inspect the variety of handiwork displayed there.

One of the items to intrigue him was a sheet of paper on which was drawn a tiny circle, even smaller in size than our present day penny piece. Inside this tiny area was written The Lord's Prayer, printed six or seven times over. The inspector was even more intrigued to learn that the particular prisoner responsible for this remarkable writing was a man who suffered with extreme shortsightedness! Apparently, this amazing feat had been accomplished by use of a needle and ink, with the finished article appearing to the naked eye as just a series of lines. The official who was so impressed, had taken it with him to Berlin where it was later magnified. He soon returned to question the man who had written it.

"Do you know if you made any mistakes?" he asked of the prisoner, who admitted that he could remember making two. With this the German produced the enlarged copy of the work. When unfolded it was about one metre in diameter and the writing there, could be clearly read, including the showing up of the two mistakes!

The prisoner was then asked if he would be prepared to travel to Berlin under escort, in the interest of medical science as it was felt that his kind of eyesight must be one in a million. He agreed to do this and was admitted to a Berlin hospital where his eyes were examined and put through various tests by the German Military Authorities. It was confirmed that this man's eyesight was indeed remarkable! Because he had been such a help in the interest of medical science, the Jerry surgeon asked him if there was anything he could do for him in return.

"Yes" replied the prisoner, "give me my ticket home". The German shook his head, "I cannot do that, I'm afraid." But he did take him out to see a show and to an evening meal before returning him to the camp. Ironically and unjustly, from this time onwards, this prisoner's letters home were not allowed to be censored by the local authorities but had to be passed by the German Intelligence in Berlin who were of the opinion that secret messages could be sent home in the form of ordinary printing.

One of our lads was a Scots Pipe major who had been in possession of his set of bagpipes when captured. The Germans would not permit him to keep them with him, but issued him with a chit. However, he was allowed to have this instrument back for band practice and, whenever there was a funeral amongst our men, he would follow the coffin, playing these pipes on the way to the cemetery. It must be said that the Jerries always permitted their prisoners to be buried with full military honours!

In the early days of our Internal Combustion Engine School, we were forced to use artists within the camp, to copy the necessary diagrams from books to accompany the lectures. But with so many students in attendance, visibility proved to a great problem. Then somebody suggested we should try to make an epidiascope. Neither Tiffy or myself knew what this was. So we put an advertisement on the notice board situated just outside of Mr Mackenzie's office. This is where we could always advertise for anything that might be required within the camp.

Our advert asked for anyone conversant with the epidiascope, as it was needed for school use. To our surprise, two fellow prisoners offered their services but only if the right materials could be found for its construction. Another advertisement went up but this time for magnifying glasses.

Fortunately, we managed to acquire a matching pair of lenses. These, combined with cocoa lids as reflectors, enabled the lads to set about constructing a unit to be used as an overhead projector. This they finally achieved! Basically, you could lay your drawings down behind a screen made from a bedsheet and project their image at about a metre square for all the class to see. As well as proving itself invaluable to our school, it was immediately commandeered by the Escape Committee for enlarging maps of the 1ocal area. In their quest for freedom, they would be able to project these onto a sheet of paper and then delicately draw the outline from the reverse.

We also required a radio set for one of our lads who had been a naval operator. So by trading some of the contents from our Red Cross parcels, we were able to bribe the Jerry guards to bring in the necessary equipment to fix one up. Several of these radio receivers were made over a time, but one particular S.S. officer, known to us all as Molatov, would always come into our camp and no matter how well we had hidden them he would always manage to find them. Although on one occasion, when we carelessly left a radio inside of a cardboard box unconcealed within our hut, strangely this set was never found! Anyway, word got around that Molatov had to be got out of the way as quickly as possible.

Once again, an advert appeared upon our notice board. This time requesting that anyone who had been a professional pickpocket before the war to get in touch, at the same time indicating that the matter would be treated in the strictest confidence. With the six thousand of us made up of men drawn from all walks of life, it was, indeed a mixed bag. Therefore it was not surprising that they actually received three replies to this advertisement. Because Molatov could not be bribed or got rid of a plan was hatched. Next time he was visiting our camp, the pickpocket was instructed to plant a packet of cigarettes in Molatov's pocket. This was carried out and the word passed on. One of our men went up to the guards on the gate and said that Molatov was trading cigarettes. Bear in mind that these guards were from the First World War and not Nazis at all and so hated the S.S. as much as we did!

So they phoned through to the Kommandant who then waited at the gate. Although the actual plan was not known to us, we heard that there was something going on, so we all crowded around the gate to see what was happening. As Molatov was about to leave the camp, the Kommandant called him to attention and ordered one of the sentries to search his pockets. Out came a packet of 20 Players Cigarettes. Poor old Molotov's eyes nearly popped out of his head, but it served the purpose and we never saw him again.

The fact became known within the camp, that the Germans could always believe the worst of their own people. To us this knowledge proved very useful. The Escape Committee was trying desperately to smuggle some of the prisoners out of the camp. But the guard on the outer gate was proving to be a stumbling block. Each time the old refuse van came into clear the rubbish, one of our lads would always hide in it and try to make an escape, but this particular German would, without fail, pick up a large spike and poke wildly into the rubbish before it left the camp thus denying us any chance of freedom.

As it happened, a few of our men had acquired a smattering of the German language. Exchanging a few words with the old sentries who were posted around the perimeter of the camp, they found out that if one of these Germans actually caught someone escaping and recaptured them, they would without fail, be given a fortnights holiday to go home to their family. This knowledge was used to the advantage of the Escape Committee and a deal was struck with one of the guards. The arrangement was that, on one particular night, he would let three people escape from the camp by allowing them to go out under the wire, on the understanding that one person would allow himself to be caught. This ensured that the guard got his holiday.

After being recaptured and interrogated the prisoner however, insisted that he got out of the gate by way of the refuse van. So the troublesome guard on the main gate, who had made himself such a nuisance to us by being so particular when checking the refuse van, was immediately suspected and we got rid of him and never saw him again.

At one time, I myself, was due to go in the dreaded cooler, but fortunately another lad offered to take my place. With fourteen fellows to one small hut it was extremely noisy and he was desperate to get away to a quiet place in order to study. We swapped identity discs and when summoned by the guards it was he who reported. Needless to say, this made two British prisoners very happy, especially me!

Although the prisoners of Stalag 383 were not compelled to work for the Germans due to the Geneova Convention, when food stocks began to dwindle we were the ones to go without food. The small amount available was naturally reserved for the workers. In the latter part of the war, food could not get through to us prisoners, nor indeed to the German's themselves, due to the constant bombardment from our own aircraft. Apparently, Nuremberg, Munich and Regensberg had all been centres of supply, and so had been targeted and left completely shattered from the air. The Nazis used this as another excuse to withhold our food.

Without the Red Cross parcels to supplement our already meagre diet of black bread and a handful of small potatoes, life within the camp altered dramatically! Even roll calls were eventually cancelled. Those who did manage to make it to the sports field were, more often than not, collapsing where they stood. This meant that their fellow prisoners, who were already in a weakened state themselves, would have to carry them back to the huts. Trying to keep count of these prisoners was becoming farcical. Others were too weak to leave their beds. Due to hunger, our physical appearance was changing rapidly as our weight plummeted. Combined with gnawing hunger pains was the freezing condition of our huts. Icicles hung from the rafters and also from the asbestos walls inside the huts. At times, even attempting to write in bed was an impossible feat, as outside of the blankets our fingers would freeze. Normally, there was a special fuel issued by the Germans to keep the stoves going. Though very smokey when in use, and the subject of many complaints, we were sorry to find that even that was no longer available.

Any wood we could get hold of was used in an effort to warm the huts and at the same time melt the ice from the wooden floors. In some huts they had used the wooden slats from the bunks for fuel. This caused countless friction when the occupant of the top bunk would suddenly fall through onto the unsuspecting fellow below. The occupants of another hut had even burnt their beds, their wooden forms, also the legs from the table. This had made meal times very awkward. The table top had to be suspended from the rafters, which swayed precariously whilst, from a standing position, the men attempted to eat their precious soup ration.

In fact, wood was so desperately needed that it called for drastic measures and so a plan was hatched. At a prearranged time, some of the lads suddenly started to kick up a commotion. This, in turn, brought a guard running to investigate, unwisely deserting his post for only a few seconds. This would prove just long enough for another prisoner to steal his wooden sentry box. Of course, it was never found as it had been immediately chopped up and added to the hidden stock of firewood.

In an effort to keep warm, we would dress in the strangest of gear. Even inside the hut we would be forced to wear several layers of old clothes, together with balaclava typehats. One fellow was dressed up in a wolf's outfit complete with tail. During the early days when the camp had been a hive of industry, Frank had also been the wigmaker for the National Theatre productions within the camp. This artistic fellow had made the wigs for the female impersonators by the teasing out of string. In a previous pantomime when the camp had still been alive and active in the days of the Red Cross parcels, Frank had made the whole outfit especially for his role in Red Riding Hood. Now with his startlingly thin body he looked even more the part, and wore the brown, furry suit, all the time to keep out the extreme cold.

By this time, the hall that had once been our theatre and full of activity, where props had been created by using bits of cardboard, and where glamourous gowns for the leading 'ladies' had been styled out of dyed bandages, was now being used for a medical room and filled to capacity with the sick. There were no clubs running at this point. No one had any energy left and so spent their days in bed, too weak to stand up. All we were concerned about was getting enough food to stay alive! Our health suffered and our weight dropped drastically. We were in a very bad state and used to eat all sorts of things to keep ourselves alive. Desperate for meat, some would eat hedgehogs, in fact anything that moved! Although I never tasted one myself, but I do recall eating dandelions and stinging nettles that when stewed, tasted just like spinach.

Our food stocks were disappearing fast. The normal ration consisting of black bread, potatoes now even smaller and mostly mouldy, with soup made from swede peelings, was in itself pitiful, but for us, the only thing between life and death as our physical condition gradually worsened. Of course, by then there was no margarine either to be had anywhere in the camp. As well as missing its obvious food value, it had also been useful for greasing machinery and such like.

Sharing food out fairly was a meticulous process and each hut would have its own way of dealing with this. This was a serious business and would usually fall to one a much-trusted person who would divide the rations up under the watchful eye of each starving member.

But the worst was on a Saturday when we were given rations for two days. Some would eek it out to the very last morsel. Others would scoff the whole lot down and then retire to bed, in the awful knowledge that there would be no more food until Monday lunchtime when we would hopefully, eat again. As you can well imagine, to us these weekends seemed like a lifetime!

[Note: The following is a transcript of a letter which Harry Brett sent to his wife, Zena, on the 31st December 1944: "My own darling Zena, once more the sands are running low on another year behind barbed wire & separation from those dear to me. My thoughts travel back through the years of all those happy times together. Each year of this life we have said it will be the last, but this must truly be. Our weather has been very cold, most mornings 15°C below the room so cold everyone is going to bed so we all shall sleep this year out, and awake in a New Year which we trust will hold untold joys and happiness for all."]

Freedom at Last

Against all odds, those 'white angels' as we called them, managed to reach us. By negotiation with the German authorities the Red Cross lorries were actually allowed through to our camp. Words cannot describe the relief and excitement at their arrival. Looking back now, it was nothing short of a miracle! We were desperate and our lives hung by a thread. Just a few more weeks without the supplies and we would have been done for.

Eventually the time came when the Americans were getting close to us. We were given orders to evacuate the camp immediately. This we refused to do! But after two days, the Kommandant came to us again and said, "The S.S. troops are coming in and I advise you lads to move and quickly!"

This time we needed no second bidding. We spent what must have been all of two weeks travelling the road during the daytime. Fortunately, it was April and the weather was kind. Each night we were put into a meadow or nearby farm. We had instructions that we were to try and put out some kind of identification upon the roofs of the farm houses on the ground or wherever we happened to be. Sometimes with whitewash or even paper, laying out the letters P.O.W. In fact, anything we could find that could be recognised from the air. Each morning there would be planes flying over and diving down at us. I remember we used to say to each other "I hope to God they know who we are!" Which of course they obviously did.

In the morning we were back on the road again, travelling as usual, during the day. As you can imagine, a procession of six to seven thousand of us going as slowly as we could, stretched quite a considerable distance back along the road. We also had some R.A.F. boys hidden amongst us as we made our way towards Munich. I remember one incident which was not at all funny at the time. A farmer was offering drinks to us and being thirsty I took one, thinking it was water I gulped it down. What a shock, it was schnapps! Eventually, we got very close to the danger zone where Jerry was waiting. As soon as we passed over a bridge across a river or railway, it was detonated and blown up. We finally finished up on a farm and that night had shells going over the top of us both ways. We were literally in 'No Man's Land!'

When the Yanks actually arrived the very next morning, the relief was unbearable! They were part of General Patton's Tank Corps. When they shared their daily rations with us, that was sheer luxury! After a short period we were transported to a military airfield called Landshut. We were then issued with food and advised to stay where we were. It was here on May 8th 1945 we heard the much longed for announcement that the war was over. As you can imagine, everyone went crazy at the news and deafening cheers filled the air.

We were then flown by the Americans to Brussels. I can remember one of the Yanks remarking to us, "Well lads, You know what Jerry did to your Coventry, well I'm going to take you off for a bit and show you just what we did to Cologne!" Precious little but the Cathedral was still standing!

We spent the night in a hotel in Brussels, where we were 'debugged' and kitted out in new uniforms. We were warned by the medical division to eat only small amounts of food, as large quantities could prove fatal. The next day the R.A.F. flew us back to dear old England where we were given four weeks leave before being discharged into civilian life. When I eventually arrived home, I was shattered to learn, that my brother, George had been killed. His Lancaster had crashed ironically, on the day before V.E. Day, killing the whole crew. The shock must have proved too much for me to take in after all I had been through, for I went to sleep that night and suffered a complete loss of memory of the next forty eight hours, which has lasted even to this very day.

After the war, I found it extremely difficult to settle down to normal life. Probably due to what is nowadays called 'Post Traumatic Stress.' Unfortunately in those days, this syndrome had not yet been recognised.

END.

Harry was reunited with his wife Zena and their two daughters Sheila and Jill, within a year his third daughter Ann was born. He returned to his job as foreman with W.T. Richards garage in Bexleyheath. The family went on to have 8 Grandchildren, 17 Great Grandchildren and 11 Great Great Grandchildren.

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