POW march across Germany, 1945. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

So life went on. Of course, everybody was still so very excited and impatient to get moving. One amazing thing was how quickly everybody in our compound got back into the groove again. Uniforms were cleaned up, as far as possible, boots cleaned, people began to shave again each morning, haircuts became the order of the day and I found my own RAF comrades parading not only in spivved up uniforms but complete with uniform neckties as well - it was all very pleasing - physically weak a lot of them may have been, but there was nothing wrong with their intelligence. You would have thought the guards on the gates of the compound were at Buckingham Palace.

Of course amusing - and amazing - incidents still abounded, but everyone was quick to get organised. One really amusing incident occurred to me the next morning. My Interpreter and I were on the way down to breakfast in the mess when we noticed, in a small paddock, a whole collection of German prisoners - and what a sight they provided. They stood huddled together - rather like a herd of cattle on a cold, wet, day - except that the cattle would have looked much cleaner and certainly more lively. I don’t think I have ever seen a more dejected or miserable looking collection. True it was cold at this time of the morning and damp with overnight dew, but this couldn’t account for the dejection. It was impossible to imagine that only a short time ago this mob were part of the mighty German Wehrmacht, strutting through Europe, rulers of all they surveyed - I am sure that our boys, even in the darkest days of captivity, had never looked like this.

Harry and I decided to go over and have a closer look. At the gate of the compound we found a big, tough American Master-Sergeant from the 3rd American Army - armed to the teeth and looking as if he was really enjoying his job. We showed him our passes and stopped to chat.
'What have you got here Sergeant?' I asked.
He replied, in a rich Bronx accent, straight out of an American movie, 'Krauts Sir, - 240 of them - and ain't dey lovely?'
'How long have you had them?' Harry queried.
'Since yesterday afternoon'
'Where do they sleep?' I asked (there was no sign of any huts or tents).
'Sleep? Dey sleep where dey stand'.
'You mean you just let them lie on the ground, in this weather?'
'Lie on the ground, Sir, they don’t lie down' he cracked, 'dey sleep where dey stand - dey only lie down if de doctor says dere sick' he paused - 'and I'm de doctor - there ain't bin many sick, I can promise you!'

In spite of the mournful scene before us we couldn’t help laughing. The 3rd Army were certainly tough. Our conversation with the guard was interrupted by the arrival of yet another batch of prisoners. These were a mixed bunch, some very young, some old men, some from crack units like the SS, others, veterans from the Volksturmer - most of them looking as miserable as the crowd already behind the wire. Just one or two were still a little defiant. One, in particular, was a really nasty specimen - he was a young lieutenant from the SS, and therefore a fanatical nazi - his world in ruins around him, herded in with a nondescript bunch who he would have expected to jump each time he spoke - now no longer even noticing him. His vanity was shattered and he acted like a petulant child - but he soon learned.

The American guards moved in to search the POWs, as they were perfectly entitled to do, and ordered them to turn out their pockets - obviously they had only just been picked up. Everybody seemed to obey - except our arrogant young specimen. He resisted, perhaps he didn’t understand the orders - more likely he was determined to show off his prowess. Anyway, as a burly GI moved in to empty his pockets there was a scuffle - whether the hero of the 3rd Reich tried to strike the GI was not clear, but the result was. He got a resounding clip in the ear which spreadeagled him on the turf. A tough GI promptly sat on him and ripped off his combat jacket, Iron Cross and all. The pockets were emptied and then the jacket was ripped down the centre seam. One half was flung to the ground and the other half was handed back to the now thoroughly cowed young German. His last stand for the Fuhrer was over - he was thoroughly humiliated - at last he knew that might would get him precisely nowhere.

Harry and I turned away and went to get some breakfast.

There was still plenty of work to do. We were still getting stragglers in in the form of British and American ex POWs who had dropped out of various forced marches and had been picked up by the 3rd Army. They all had to be interrogated and sorted out. During that morning I had one of those amazing experiences which make the world seem so very small. We had a constant stream of visitors, in the form of members of the 3rd Army, who dropped in on their way to and from the front line - which had now left us some way behind. One such visitor turned out to be Captain Al Miller from Texas - you could almost imagine him riding the range - big, strong and very hearty. He came in with his 'buddy' a US Master Sergeant (the American army was far more democratic than our own - officers and enlisted men mixed much more freely.

I was introduced to Captain.Miller and took him and his companion over to the mess for morning coffee. It was soon evident that he was very fond of England, and of East Anglia in particular. I told him I came from Essex and by strange coincidence that is where he had spent most of his service in England. We talked of various towns and villages and it came out that I had been at school, for a short time, in Braintree.

'Gee, that’s strange' he said 'I got myself engaged to a lady from Braintree, only a week before we were posted to France - so you can sure see why I'm in a hurry to get back'.

I asked him the lady's name - it turned out that she had been at the same school as me and that either she, or her brother, were in the same form as I was - 20 years before.

It was really incredible. He was tickled pink. He turned to his mate, 'Well, Sergeant, what do y'know - I come all the way from Texas to get into this man's war - I stay in England, come on over to France and now into Germany and end up having cawfee with a guy who knew my fiancee 20 years ago - it sure is a small world, yes sir!'

That day there was another happening that wasn’t quite so pleasant. In the afternoon, I was in the Orderly room when Major Morton came in and said 'Oh Jim, just the bloke I want - I've got one of your guys locked up in the cooler, what are you going to do about him?' This took me completely by surprise because on parade that morning we had been all present and correct, so I couldn’t see how anybody from our lot could be in the cells, unless he had been arrested since breakfast time - and if that had happened I would have been notified at once.

I explained this to the Major and he agreed.

'Yeah, that’s right - this one was picked up outside the camp but he claims to have come from your party - here's his name and number.'

He handed me a piece of paper and I recognised the name as being Palestinian but I certainly did not know the chap. I explained to Major Morton that I had put the Palestinians under the charge of a Palestinian NCO and that I would prefer to hand the matter over to him. He was quite in agreement but suggested I saw the prisoner myself first. They fetched him out of the cells. He was a complete stranger to me and I could get very little out of him as he spoke very little English and, unfortunately, I spoke no Hebrew. So I had him sent back and went to find the Palestinian NCO, Eddie Dreyfuss. Eddie had acted as my interpreter, at one time, he was half Jew, half German. He had been brought up in Germany - in fact he was a complete German - except in the vital matter of faith - he had got away to Palestine when the Germans began to persecute his people. His father had died (mercifully, as Eddie said) and his mother was still in Germany. In fact we had walked through a badly bombed town whilst we were on the march - it was almost completely shattered - that was the town from whence Eddie had last heard from his mother (NB he found out, after the war, that she had been evacuated before
the fatal raid and was still alive and well). Eddie was a quite, well-mannered, well-educated Jewish boy who had the respect of all the Palestinian contingent (they had chosen him as their leader - for which I was very glad).

Eddie came to see me directly I sent for him. I explained the situation to him. I handed him the piece of paper with the details on it and asked him to come down to H/Q to secure the lad's release. He looked at the name and then turned to me and said:
'Is that an order, Sir, or a request?' I was puzzled by this attitude. 'Since when have I had to give my friends orders, Eddie, what's the difference anyhow, all I want is to get this kid out - he's been a POW held by the Germans for 3.5 years, remember? Surely you don’t want anybody locked away now we are supposed to be free? I am asking you to accept him into your custody - so why the questions?

He looked at me steadily for a moment and then said very respectfully:
'If it is an order, Sir, I shall, of course, obey - but if it is a request, as a friend, I beg leave to refuse it.'

I just couldn’t believe it. After all this time shut away by the people they had every reason to hate, here was one Jew asking me to keep another Jew under close arrest - in a German camp of all places. He saw my perplexed look and hastened to add:
'I am sorry to question your motives Sir, but I am afraid you English still do not understand my people. I know you have stood up for us when we have been in trouble, even at your own risk, many times, but you don’t know just how bad, a bad Jew can be. I know you have bad Englishmen, there are bad in all nations. The vast majority of my people are good people - and those are the sort you know - but if we get a bad man among us then he is very bad and the rest of us want nothing to do with him. This man is very bad. If you bring him back up into the compound you will have more trouble with him, perhaps bad trouble, and as we are only a few days from going home to England - we don’t want that. Please let him stay where he is - it is far safer: he has done wrong and should be punished. When we return to England I shall report his conduct. With your permission we will take him back to England under escort - he will be court martialled, anyway, when we get back.'

I knew he was quite sincere in what he said and I wouldn’t have dreamed of upsetting him. Hoping he would change his mind I took him down to H/Q and let him talk to Major Morton. The Major listened to his story and said, without any hesitation at all, that he thought Eddie was right. Good jews, bad jews, German jews, continental jews, I now realised just how ruthless some could be.

The regular food and the chance of a bath now and then were having a tremendous influence on the men. The sickness rate was certainly checked, although, unfortunately we still had some trouble and the Revier was still pretty full with the seriously ill cases - many of whom seemed to be making very little progress although they were, by now, getting plenty of medical attention. Unhappily, they were too far gone, some of them, before the help had arrived. However, most of us were feeling the benefit. I could feel I was putting on weight again, even in those few days and we all began to feel stronger and ready for the journey home.

One afternoon Harry (my interpreter) and I decided we would like a bath, so we got some soap and towels and hied our way to the bath house - the same place where, you will remember, I had had the swear-off with the Nazi in charge when I took a party of Jewish POWs down for a bath whilst we were still in captivity. When we got there the shower room was occupied by some Russians who were the last of an official bath party. Harry told the bath attendant - he was my old enemy - who we were. The effect was amazing . He immediately began to chase the Russkis out and then insisted on cleaning down the floor before we were allowed in. He even used some ersatz disinfectant on the place to make sure it was clean for the English Fuhrer and so there we were - just the two of us with 25 showers between us. He turned them all on so we were able to soap ourselves under one each and then run through the others to rinse off - what luxury!

When we had finished the fat Hun was waiting for us. He hoped the bath had been alright? - had we had enough water? - please would we come up at any time we felt we wanted a bath. What a contrast - a little over 10 days ago he had been screaming at me for being a 'dirty Jude' and now all he needed was a prayer mat to kneel down in front of me. There is no doubt that Winston Churchill (or some other notable statesman) was quite right when he said a German was to be found in only two positions - either at one's throat or else at one's knees. This fat specimen certainly proved that point

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