Beyond Dunkirk - Part 6 (The Clock)

Part 6 of the story of the my grandfather, Cpl Edward Arthur Wilkins (1860815) last few days before his capture by the Germans near Cap Gris Nez, continues on from the letter he wrote to his wife and son in his diary..

I was then reunited with Dick and Hall. We each questioned each other about
our respective interrogations - what had we said etc? They both told me
they had the same treatment as me (with the exception of having to expose
myself to prove I was not a Jew) and that they had given none of our French
friends away - the letter to my dear wife confirms this.
We were then taken with other British in lorries to St. Omer to what I should
imagine was the Citadel (all large towns in France seem to have a Citadel -
a kind of barracks). Then we were taken to the top floor of one of the
large buildings directly under the roof and given straw etc., to bed down on.
There must have been hundreds there, all more or less British. It was here
where I first met Bobby Hyde, a very young Geordie, and his pal. They were
Militia Boys and, in my opinion, too young to get mixed up in this fracas.
I cannot truthfully say how long we stayed there but we were daily taken out
under escort in the town to work.
One day I was taken with about 9 more to a detached house in the residential
area. This house must have belonged to a high-ranking French Officer for
there was a large glass case with a green baize back full of medals hanging on
the wall of one of the main rooms. There was the Croix de Guerre and other
medals in this case. We were employed removing all the furniture and
loading it on to lorries. I could tell everything was being confiscated
as we were not told to be careful in our handling of the ordinary items - only
the valuables.
I was removing the items from the first floor rooms. This meant going up and
down the staircase. I was given the Medal Case to take down when, on the
landing, I met a German Officer coming up. He looked at the Case, took it
from me and put his boot through the glass and scattered the Medals and Honours
all down the staircase and muttered some epithet in German. This confirmed
my opinion that everything was being confiscated. There were one or two lovely
clocks in each room. These were taken and placed in a car. I was given a
Travelling Clock with others to take downstairs to the car. I put the Travelling
Clock into my valise which I always had with me and took two large clocks - one
in each arm - down to the car. I handed over the two large clocks and then
did a very silly thing. I did not hand over the clock in my valise. What
made me do this I do not know. I just thought - well, if the Germans are going
to have all this, why not a little of it for me.
Soon we were lined up to march back to our billet. The clock was a repeater
and had been wound up and, if you pressed the little knob at the top, it would
repeat the last hour. It was just gone twelve and we marched off. The
swaying of the valise must have touched the knob for the bell of the clock
commenced to chime the last hour i.e. twelve times and, as the knob was continually
being touched, it continued to chime. I was in a bit of a panic. Someone said
"What the hell have you got there?". I said "Never mind, just start
singing all of you to drown it for we must now let the Guards hear it",
this they did. We arrived back to Billet without the Guards hearing
the chimes. When we got in I found I could not stop the clock from
chiming. I suppose the knob had been touched so many times on the march
back that each touch meant 12 chimes. I hid it wrapped up in all the spare
clothes I could find to drown the noise. Eventually it ceased chiming and
I felt relieved. That night I thought - what a fool you are risking your
life for a clock and I decided to dispose of it but, somehow, it fascinated
me and I tried to think out how I could carry it around without it being
seen. I then thought of my water bottle which I had carried with me
throughout. I measured with my eye the size of the clock with the bottle
and thought if I could cut out one side of the bottle the clock would fit
inside. So, after carefully removing the cover, I commenced cutting out
one side with a pair of scissors (which my dear Wife had given me when I returned
from leave to France). After a lot of hacking and sore fingers I at last
got the side out. I found the clock fitted inside nicely. I then made holes
in the remaining side of the bottle to enable me to wind the clock while it
was in the bottle.
We stayed at St. Omer for a few weeks. Every day more prisoners arrived in small
batches. I found that 90% of us were wounded or had been ill at the time of the
Germans capturing France. Consequently we all missed the long march into
Germany which the earlier prisoners experienced.
We were then moved on by cattle truck to Tournai in Belgiun. After alighting
at Tournai station we were marched to a very large barracks or Citadel. As
we entered the Square the German guards stopped at the entrance whilst the
column marched on across the Square. When the whole of us had entered
the Barracks (we were stretched from end to end) we were given the command
to halt - which we did - except the first twenty or so - either who had not
heard the command or had deliberately ignored it for they kept on marching
straight on through the entrance or exit at the other end. I never did hear
how those opportunists got on.
Whilst here at Tournai we had a roll-call twice a day and we then kept inside
the Barrack rooms. Every so often the alarm whistle would blow and everyone
had to dash on to the Square and line up. Then a German N.C.O. would select
perhaps a dozen of us and, with a Guard, march them off to work. This would
happen four or five times each morning. This got rather monotonous and, as
we were not counted on these spasmodic parades, many of us just ignored them
and just did not respond to the alarm - (this was where I lost a little faith
in my fellow men) - for the Germans - realising this - selected the tallest
and strongest of us and issued them with pick axe handles and ordered them
to force us out. This they did, I am ashamed to say. I can only excuse
them through the fact that they were mainly members of some of our crack
regiments who had been disciplined to the hilt in their training and did not
know when to refuse to obey a word of command. I found the Germans had only
to bark out a command and they would respond automatically as if they were on
parade.
Some of us were taken to different parts of the town to do work. Many went
to a Tobacco Factory from which they were able to obtain several pounds
of very dirty tobacco or waste product which we managed to smoke. In
fact tissue paper was more valuable than tobacco as we had plenty of tobacco
but no pipes or cigarette papers.
On one or two days I was taken with 4 more to a Nunnery which was more or
less a Hospital. The Nuns were nursing the wounded etc. I was employed
under the watchful eye of the Belgian handyman gardener. He gave me orders
what to do in sign language and told me to weed between some tomatoes that
were growing there and, when he saw me picking out the side-shoots which I knew
from experience was the right thing to do, he patted me on the back and said
"Good, good", and left me to carry on whilst he worked within earshot away.
It was just then that a rather high-ranking German Officer in full uniform
came walking by me. He saw me pinching out the side shoots and he went
berserk which is a failing of many Germans. He pulled out his revolver shouting
"Sabotage, sabotage". Up came the handyman. He asked what was the trouble
and then explained to the Officer that what I was doing was quite in order.
I am sure that I owe that handyman my life for, since then, I have seen
German Officers shoot down prisoners for less provocation than what I did.
On the way to and from this Nunnery I noticed a field of corn alongside the
road. One evening returning to Barracks - on a sudden impulse - I decided to
attempt an escape. I dived into the corn unseen by the Guard. I crept well
inside the corn and awaited dusk. When I thought the time was right I crept
out only to crawl straight towards two Germans who were awaiting me. They
took me back and, surprisingly, nothing was done about it, for I was sent to
the Nunnery again the next day to work.
Soon we heard rumours that we were to be moved on. When this was confirmed
I helped myself to approx. 5 Ib. green tomatoes from the garden - knowing that
if I kept them in the dark they would ripen - and, as we were continually hungry,
it was a temptation I could not resist. (This reminds me of the day we
entered the Barracks at Tournai. We were issued with a ration of half-cooked
baked beans. Some of us were ravenous and swallowed these half cooked beans
whole for, when I visited the Lavatories, I found the urinal floor inches
deep with beans which had been vomitted by the hungry men). Soon we were given
a quarter of a loaf of bread and a small pat of margarine and herded into cattle
trucks.
From my first experience of his way of travelling I had learnt that it was best to
get into a corner - there one could squat down and not be disturbed. I made
straight for a corner and settled down. Little did I know that I was to squat
there for five days not daring to move as we were very crowded together. 40
odd men to a truck. Many suffering from Dysentery - the truck was like
the inside of a cesspool for the floor was just one mass of Diarrhea,
Excreta and Urine. The stench was terrible. We stopped at a Station near an
embankment. The Guards opened the doors and let us out to relieve ourselves.
This we did, fully exposed to the view of the German public for we were now
somewhere in Germany, who jeered and shouted at us in no complimentary way.
We were soon loaded up again. I managed to get back to my corner and we then
carried on our journey.

This is the end of my grandfather’s diary. He never spoke or wrote another word about his time as a prisoner of war although we do know that he passed his Incorporated Clerk of Works exam whilst incarcerated. We only know what he must have gone through by some books - Barbed Wire Memories of Stalag 383 — one of the camps he occupied and “For you Tommy the war is Over” — a book produced by the National Prisoner of War Association (North Eastern Branch) with a contribution by his friend Bobby Hyde — in which he mentions my grandfather. There are also countless photographs of plays and dramas produced at the camps — making you wonder where they got all the costumes etc from. The clock and waterbottle mentioned in the diary survived 5 years of prisoner of war captivity and are now in my father, his son, Arthur’s possession.

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