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Derek Hunnisett

THE LOST SIX YEARS

1939 - 1945

Map of Northern Poland

by Derek Hunnisett

First Published in the UK in 1983 by Derek Hunnisett.

Revised and reprinted in 2008

Text © Copyright Derek Hunnisett 1983

The moral right of Derek Hunnisett to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form (including photocopying or storing it in any medium by electronic means and whether or not transiently or incidentally to some other use of this publication) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

Derek on Embarkation Leave

The Diaries

MY DIARIES. THE SOURCE DOCUMENTS FOR THIS BOOK

Medals	Dog Tags

FOREWORD

This is a story and an account of my wartime experiences of call up with the Royal Sussex Regiment, service in France and Belgium with the B.E.F. and my time as a Prisoner of War. This was a very different kind of war from that experienced by the fighting forces but still a war nevertheless.

I am not only writing for myself, but for all my comrades and others who were P.O.W.s. We were fighting, as I believe it, humiliation, boredom, loss of freedom. At times we suffered mentally and physically from the guards and civilians alike.

However one thing stood out, during the whole time I was out there; the British, more than any other nationality, refused to give way to their suffering. They caused trouble where they could and tried to keep their morale at the highest level, come what may. I couldn’t have served with a better group of men. Sometimes there were a lot of fights between ourselves, mostly because we were so hungry and had to watch every crumb, but our differences were soon forgotten and we were friends again.

If anyone was in trouble or sick, (with the exception of the odd one or two, as is always the case) not one refused to give all the help that they could, no matter how badly off they were themselves.

I kept a diary for most of the time from when I joined up. There were times that I had to hide them but I always managed it somehow. Sometimes they were sewn in my clothes, sometimes in my boots or clogs. If upon reading this story it seems a bit short and abrupt in places, it is where I have copied my notes at that particular time, so the narrative isn’t everything that happened. I have, however, put down all that I can remember from my entries and memories.

While in France and Belgium we seemed to do a hell of a lot of marching before coming to grips with the enemy. When we did it was short and brief but we endeavoured to do our best with the weapons we had. They were, unfortunately, not of the standard issued to our German counterparts.

The treatment we received whilst P.O.W.s varied with the guards. Usually the older ones weren’t too bad but the young ones were very provocative and overbearing. They liked to show their authority both physically and mentally. They never came to understand us though and often said we were mad and would laugh at anything. Perhaps they were right as if things went wrong or were bad, we always tried to laugh it off. The guards had a very poor sense of humour. I remember one occasion at Mogilno in Poland, a guard (a good one as it happened) tried to show off his strength to us, in the process of which someone pinched his rifle….. he didn’t think that a bit funny!

I can’t praise the Polish people enough, they were wonderful. The risks they took, trying to get food to us, were unbelievable at times. Very often we witnessed them getting beaten but it never stopped them trying again. I will always admire their courage, the women as well as the men.

There is one thing I will always be grateful for and that is the Red Cross Society. I don’t know what we would have done without them. Also to my family and friends who sent me out clothing and cigarette parcels. They were a godsend to me.

Derek Hunnisett
January 1983

Contents

Chapter One

The 3rd of September 1939. An announcement on the radio from the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, which included the words “We are now at war with Germany.” Those were the fateful words which were broadcast to the nation on that beautiful sunny, Sunday morning. How many of us thought that it would be nearly six long and bitter years before we would be at peace again and how many would never see the end.

I was in our sailing club house on the beach at Eastbourne with all the members listening to the announcement. I don’t think it had sunk in what changes to my life this would bring. As soon as the announcement was over I, with several others, pushed off in our boats for the usual days sailing. It was a lovely day with a good steady sailing breeze. We hadn’t gone 500 yards when the air raid sirens started wailing the warning signal. (It turned out that they went off all over the country as a test). We didn’t know then and thought “Blimey they soon got over here”, but we kept on sailing as we thought it was no use going back; there was no time to get to shore before the planes could arrive and we would be just as safe where we were anyway. Within a few minutes the all clear was sounded.

On the 18th of September, two days after my 21st birthday, I received by post an official letter from the War Department stating that I was to attend for a medical examination for the Armed Forces at Hastings on the 25th of September. On the day, I arrived at Hastings in high spirits. It was a good job that I didn’t know what was in store for me in the future or I wouldn’t have been so eager to join up. Arriving at the centre we had a very thorough medical test, which I passed A1. I then signed a form stating which Armed Service I wanted to join, Army, Navy or Air Force.

Naturally I wanted to get into the Navy, so I signed accordingly, with a second choice of the Royal Tank Corps, as it was then called. I then received the princely sum of one shilling, plus five shillings extra expenses, which works out at 30p at today’s rate. I was still in pocket at that time though.

On the 11th of October I received my enlistment notice to report to Chichester, Sussex for service in the Royal Sussex Regiment on the 16th of October 1939 at 10am. So much for me signing for the Navy or the Tank Corps. The last unit I wanted to be in was the Infantry. (Still I suppose walking keeps you fit!). I was also sent a P.O. for four shillings (20p) advance pay. (I was rich).

On the big day, I set off by train for Chichester after saying my farewells to family and friends. I’m afraid my family weren’t very happy at my leaving but I must admit I did feel a bit proud to be going. It seemed to me I was about to do something useful. The thoughts of the realities of war were a long, long way away to me at that time.
On arrival at the barracks I, with quite a few others, reported at the guard room. We were taken to a barrack room which was to be our quarters but no sooner had we got inside than the air raid siren went off. The Sergeant shouted for us to get down on the floor…we thought “what a start this is.” It turned out to be another false alarm or practice once again.

The first two days were spent getting fitted out with uniform, rifle and all our small kit. Then came a hair cut, although I had only just had one a couple of days before. Throughout we were getting the general idea of routines etc. All this was done at a leisurely pace with everybody being friendly and helpful. We thought, “This is a bit of alright”, but we had a rude awakening on the third day.

At an unearthly hour the Sergeant stormed into the room shouting “wakey wakey, come on you lot, outside in one minute, jump to it”. When we lined up outside in ranks of three, he was at it again, yelling “that was a lousy turnout, you’re in the Army now. You haven’t got your mother to wait on you, I’m your mother now and you will do as I tell you at the double. Left turn, quick march, left right left right, come on come on, pick ‘em up, get in step you”. Phew, I think all our heads were spinning a bit. I had heard of what Sergeants were like but thought it was just an exaggerated joke. I was wrong!

From then on it was intensive training, hours on the parade ground, drilling, marching….which we never did right for our dear Sergeant. From each exercise to the next, everything was done at the double. By the end of the week we all ached in every limb. Some moaned about it but surprisingly I was quite happy.

What I enjoyed most was the weapon training and P.T. in the gym. I palled up with a couple of decent chaps, one in particular, Hugh Holford. Although the majority were alright, the odd one or two didn’t mix very well and couldn’t settle down to the strict discipline. When we did rifle and marching drills, we had to shout at the top of our voices “two, three” between each operation, so that we all did it at the same time. God help anyone who dropped his rifle, as some did. The Sergeant was on him like a ton of bricks.
The first weekend I was free with no duties, but no pass, so we spent the time resting, playing cards and going into town. We thought ourselves important going to town in uniform. Everyone seemed very friendly, especially the girls. (Not that I had much to do with them!)

The second weekend I still hadn’t got a pass and I was down for church parade on the Sunday. I paid a chap to stand in for me and slipped out of the grounds through a gap in the fence that was made especially for that purpose, without the Sergeant or Officers knowledge, and went home. When I arrived I was treated as someone special, although my mother was a bit worried that I had come home on French leave. Getting back to the barracks on Sunday night I couldn’t find the gap in the fence in the dark. I was getting a bit worried as I thought I would have to go through the main gate, passing the guard and guardroom and a few days in the glasshouse. What a relief when I, at last, found the gap, lifted the wire and was in. I did that quite a few times and was never caught.

We had a lot of training with the rifle, the bren gun and the anti tank gun covering how it worked, how to strip it down, how to put it back together and how to cure any stoppages etc.

One day, while on parade, the Sergeant asked for volunteers for boxing, which I did with some others. We were then marched to the gym, put through a course and thinned out to the best at each weight. I was lightweight and spent a lot of time training for the Inter Company Matches. My company, No.1 Training Company, got through to the finals which were held on the 4th of December 1939. We lost as a Company, only winning two fights out of eleven. I won mine with a knockout in the first round.

On completion of our eight week basic training we were all pretty good at the drills on the square and could strip and reassemble the Bren and anti tank gun to the satisfaction of our Sergeant….infact he was quite human towards the end. It was a very hard eight weeks but, I think, we all felt better for it.

My Platoon when we went on the firing course at Steyning
(Hugh Holford is the 3rd left on the top row)

I.T.C. The Royal Sussex Regiment
Inter Company Boxing Tournament (Final)
4th December 1939

Note
In the event of a Tie.
If the points are equal, the team gaining the greater number of bouts will win. If both have gained the same number of bouts, then the fight between the 1st String Welterweight will decide the match. This bout will be fought last. Should the deciding bout end in a double disqualification, the match will be decided on the result of the Light Heavyweight bout.
………………………………
WKO = Won Knock Out
WOP = Won on Points
WFS = Won Fight Stopped
L = Lost

On the 11th of December we packed our kit and moved out, our destination was Seaford in Sussex for final training of a more practical nature.

Seaford suited me fine as it was situated just over the Sussex Downs from my home and I was able to get away nearly every weekend, with or without a pass. Arriving at Seaford we were split up into Platoons and marched to our billets which were empty private houses. Each Platoon consisted of about twenty four men. The cookhouse and mess were in one large building where we had to march in Platoon order and assemble each morning.

It was bitterly cold that winter and the billets weren’t all that comfortable. We did get some fuel sometimes, for a fire in the evenings, but spent most evenings in a pub.
I got leave for Christmas and it was great visiting my old mates, attending parties etc. I was made very welcome wherever I went but little did I know it would be my last for five years.

On the 31st of December we went to Steyning on a firing course. It was a grand week - like a holiday – with no drilling or parades, just firing on the range with the rifle, bren gun and anti tank gun. There was good food and concerts were arranged on a couple of evenings. My total score was 164 out of 200, so I was quite happy. I wasn’t so keen on firing the anti tank gun though as it had a terrific kick on it. However, it was a very enjoyable week and we were sorry to go back.

Back at Seaford it was pretty rough. Up at 06:00 hrs, out into the cold (and it was COLD) , doing P.T. before breakfast, route marches, going all over the Downs on manoeuvres, bayonet practice and crawling through mud and ditches come snow or rain. There were humorous times as well. One awkward chap threw a hand grenade and it landed at his feet. The Officer in charge yelled “Lay down you stupid !******! you’re dead!”. Another time, whilst on exercise, we were guarding a post. Someone was approaching and was challenged, “Who goes there”. Back came the reply, “Me”. The Lance Corporal burst out laughing, “Come in Harrold you stupid !******!”. It was a good job the Officer wasn’t there. I and my mate thought we would be clever on one of the cross country runs. They were always over the same route depending which way we started, so we knew which way they would return. We tailed off the group and then hid in a barn until they came back. Unfortunately an N.C.O. at the back saw us rejoin the runners and we were put on extra fatigues all week. We didn’t think it funny at the time and didn’t try it again.

On the 15th of February I was picked to join a firing party at a funeral of one chap who had died. (Not through the war).

On the 13th of March I was transferred to the Holding Battalion, still in Seaford but in a much bigger house. The Holding Battalion was the final stage before going overseas. Hugh Holford was still with me and had been since we joined up. The training still carried on but with a more definite object in mind. The training was pretty tough. We did lots of route marches with full kit, took part in exercises all over the Downs and practised making use of available cover when attacking gun positions. Mock battles took place, attacking enemy positions and defending our own. I suppose it had to be strenuous in order to toughen us up. It did that alright and I’ve never felt so fit. I really did enjoy it. On the whole the chaps I was with were a good lot but I did lose things from my kit, they just disappeared. We didn’t get any sympathy from the N.C.O.S and Officers if any of our kit was missing and were told to replace it somehow which we did by “borrowing” from someone else! I think the Army teaches you to be a good thief but we never pinched anything from our own mates.

One day my brother Syd came over on his motor bike to visit us. He treated Hugh and me to a drink in a pub and then we took him back to our billet. During that day we had both been on cookhouse fatigue and we had brought back dozens of cold sausages, so we all three had a good tuck in of bangers that evening. I don’t think Syd was very impressed with our sleeping quarters though.

On the 29th of March we were supposed to have gone on draft, but it was cancelled. Then on the 13th of April we had a kit inspection. After packing all our spare kit into our kitbags we stowed them in the store and at 12 noon went home on embarkation leave. That was on a Saturday. It wasn’t a very long leave - it went much too quickly – but I had a great time. It was hard saying goodbye to everyone and I was beginning to realise more now of what might be in store for me. Up until now I had enjoyed it all, but saying goodbye, and knowing I was going overseas, it wasn’t so good anymore. It was particularly hard saying farewell to my mother, who came to see me off at the station. She was trying hard not to cry but I know she was very near to it. That was the last time I ever saw her, standing waving at the station.

On the 15th of April 1940 we started off in the morning with a kit inspection, packed everything in our kitbags and paraded outside our billet. We then marched to the station at Seaford where the train left at 11:30 am and arrived at Southampton at 3:15 pm. We boarded the Isle of Mann packet boat, The Louth, of Liverpool at 4:00 pm. The boat was packed but Hugh and I managed to find a reasonable space to kip down. We sailed and anchored off the Isle of Wight for about two hours before getting under way again. The sea wasn’t as rough as I would have liked it to be, just a gentle swell, but it was plenty rough enough for some. Hugh and I went up on deck but it was dark and we couldn’t see a thing but we had a wander around and I quite enjoyed it. There was a cold wind blowing, so we retired to our little space and endeavoured to get some sleep. It wasn’t comfortable though; there were quite a few being seasick whilst others were playing cards or singing. Others were just trying to sleep.

In the morning, as dawn was breaking, we went on deck, once more, to watch the French coast approaching. We arrived at Le Havre, in France, at 6:30 am. After mooring up we formed up in Companies and disembarked on to the quay. We were marched into a large building and were issued with a meal of bully beef, biscuits and a mug of tea. We then boarded a train for Rouen. The carriages were very basic and they rattled and shook all the way. We were very interested in watching the countryside slip by as, for most of us, it was our first time abroad. We waved wildly to the girls we saw on the way and they were just as enthusiastic in return. We arrived in Rouen at 5:45 pm. It was pouring with rain and we had a five mile march to camp, so we weren’t feeling very happy. To cap it all we were detailed to a bell tent that leaked like a sieve. (It must have been one from the Great War). It looked as if it had been raining for a long time as there was mud everywhere. It didn’t look a very promising camp. We settled down in the tent and I got out a bread pudding, that my mother had given me, and shared it out between us. It didn’t last long but was appreciated by all.

There was a lot of red tape, fatigues, guard duties, trench digging and route marches. On the 17th of April, Hugh and I went into Rouen for the first time (we had been issued with French money).. We made straight for the Salvation Army Hostel and had a good feed of eggs and chips. We then wandered around, sightseeing and having a glass of wine at several places. It was quite a large town, with a lovely cathedral, but it wasn’t very clean – not to our standards anyway. What amazed us were the toilets, which were just open places on the side of the streets. Considering we didn’t speak French we got on very well – they knew what we wanted anyway. We just pointed to the bottles and said “Vin rouge s’il vous plait?” It was a long walk back to camp; we weren’t drunk but nice and full.

The next day we moved to another tent because ours leaked so badly. The new one wasn’t much better, it still leaked. We were woken early by someone lifting the walls of our tent saying “You want paper Tommy?” It was a French girl selling English papers. We tried to get her to come inside, to see which papers she had, but she wouldn’t. (Wise girl).

There was every Regiment you could think of camped in tents and a lot of rivalry between us with each trying to outdo the other. The food wasn’t bad and there was plenty of it.
On the 23rd of April we had our first taste of an air raid, although as infantry we didn’t do anything apart from get into the trenches. The Artillery opened up and this continued, on and off, for three days.
On the 27th of April, my brother Syd’s birthday, Hugh and I went into Rouen and celebrated it with my first taste of champagne. We thought we would go and have a look at the “houses of pleasure” we had heard about. There was one street full of them and we bowled into one of them trying to look nonchalant, as if we had done this hundreds of times. We sat at a table and ordered a glass of wine. We hadn’t been sitting long when two girls came and sat on our laps. They kept jigging about and, looking at Hugh, I could see he was as uncomfortable as I was. With one accord we got up and left, girls, drinks and all. As we left, one chap we knew (he was a bit simple) came flying out of a door at the far end minus his hat, and battle dress blouse undone. He looked scared out of his wits and it appeared that some of his mates had kidded him to go upstairs – I don’t think he knew what for.

Coming to a large square we were amazed to see a train coming down the middle of the street. The buses were packed to overflowing with lots of people hanging on outside because of lack of room inside. We had a walk along the River Seine and I saw a barge that I had often seen in Newhaven harbour. We then found ourselves in a rough quarter of the town (it was in the side streets off the main thoroughfare) but decided to get out of there as soon as possible. We didn’t like the look of some of the men there and the looks they were giving us. It turned out later that that part of town was put out of bounds as several men had been waylaid and robbed.

We finished up in a very nice café where we met Bo Standing (who I knew from Eastbourne) and a couple of other chaps from our lot. It turned out to be a very nice evening but a rather wet one (inside). I don’t remember anything of the five mile walk back to camp – all I remember is waking up the next morning with what I thought was someone banging my head with hammers! I certainly celebrated Syd’s birthday that day.

Hugh and I were getting a bit browned off as we didn’t seem to be doing much except endless fatigues, route marches etc. On the 5th of May we heard that they wanted volunteers for 2nd battalion at the front, so we volunteered. Collecting our kit, we were taken to the station in an army truck. We left Rouen at 10:00 pm and arrived at Arras at 6:15 am. We had a short stop for breakfast before carrying on to Lillers, where we were picked up by lorries, finally arriving at a farm at Sainghin at 6:30 pm. We were billeted in a barn and were just settling down for the night when an N.C.O. shouted “Where are the new arrivals?” I was just going to answer when a regular soldier was with told me to keep quiet. Hugh spoke up and the N.C.O. said “Right, outside on guard duty”. I was glad I kept quiet.

The next morning I put on my uniform which had been hanging on a nail. As I was walking down to the cookhouse for breakfast I felt something slip down the leg of my trousers. I removed my gaiters and to my surprise a mouse ran out. Thankfully it hadn’t started biting! There was a roar of laughter from everyone but me, although I saw the funny side of it later. The farm we were on was a very small one. There was an old boy there who had hundreds of miniature bottles of wine and spirits and he did a roaring trade with us.
On the 10th of May the day started off with an air raid. One plane was shot down by the Artillery who were with us. We were in slit trenches and no one was hit. The Sergeant with us told us not to fire at the planes with our rifles as it wouldn’t do any good. However as one plane came in close he, of all people, started firing at it.

Soon after we moved to St Floris where there was another air raid and one plane was shot down in a dogfight but the RAF then disappeared. Two German prisoners were brought to us. They were Air Force men and very arrogant, trying to throw their weight around, but they were soon taken down a peg or two. They were very quiet when we last saw them being taken back to H.Q. (wherever that was).
We marched to Nieppe, under fire from the Luftwaffe on the 12th. They came screaming low over the roads, strafing with machine guns. We dived head first into the ditches on each side of the road and fired volleys at them but never hit anything. We carried on marching into Belgium where the population welcomed us with bread, beer, sweets and flowers. As we moved out of Menin the Luftwaffe came over strafing the roads. We were picked up by a lorry convoy from Anzeghem and were again attacked by planes. The lorry in front of us was hit and bullets ploughed up the road beside ours. We were continually being attacked from the air now, with our Artillery hitting back as hard as they could.

We eventually arrived in Brussels to guard the British Embassy, where I went straight on guard duty. Guard duty was a bit of a farce there as the courtyard, where we were, was packed with civilians going in all directions. There were Belgian soldiers on guard as well. We didn’t like it much as we had to march up and down sloping arms and standing to attention, as if we were on a parade ground, while the Belgians were strolling about with their rifles over their shoulders, smoking. Talk about British Army bull! The Belgians thought it was funny but we didn’t by a long way.

I didn’t get to see much of Brussels as we were too busy on guard duty for most of the time and there were a lot of air raids. There was a hell of a lot of civvies packing up and moving out. In the latter part we were burning a lot of stuff from the embassy; it looked like they were getting ready to leave as well.

At daybreak on the 17th of May, the shelling and bombing started with heightened intensity. We were being hampered with hundreds of civilians not knowing where to go. All the Belgian Army had gone now. Then we received orders to withdraw. We were being attacked by the Luftwaffe that was screaming in low over the city and there was no opposition at all from our aircraft. Tanks were coming up fast behind a barrage of artillery. All the time we were retreating through Brussels the civilians we passed cheered us. I don’t know if they thought we were going against the Germans or if they cheered just because we were British. We were hampered by hundreds of civilians who didn’t know where to go. The Belgian army had gone and we had to withdraw. We were being attacked by the Luftwaffe, all the way, with the tanks close behind.

I don’t know what we were expected to do as there were only two platoons of us and the Artillery; we saw no other military at all and seemed to be on our own. We knew the Germans were coming up fast behind us and we didn’t waste any time in marching all that day and night. On some of the roads there were hundreds of refugees on the move, all carrying their belongings with them, some on carts and some just walking. They all looked scared and bewildered. Every now and again the planes came swooping low and firing along the roads. We gave help as much as we could but there were so many of them, I’m afraid there wasn’t a lot we could do. It seemed so pointless shooting up helpless civilians.

We met up with a small convoy and got a lift to Edde (Possibly Lede), where we managed to get on a coal train and arrived back in Lille in France. We went to the R.A.S.C. camp for a meal and a good sleep. We had no idea where our battalion was.

The next day, the 19th of May, about twelve bombers came over and knocked the hell out of us. Later we were on the march again and carried on all night, being machine gunned by fighter planes for a lot of the way. We seemed to be forever diving in and out of ditches at the side of the roads. We shot down one German plane as it came over low but that was more luck than judgement I think. We stopped at a small deserted farm and surprised two spies with a radio. We soon overpowered them. They were both French and we left them with a group of French soldiers. I doubt if they lasted long as they weren’t being treated very well when we left.

We arrived at Armentieres at 6:15 pm. on the 21st of May. There were a lot of women and children killed here, and there was no food for the refugees. Although we tried to find some we had little in the way of success. Five of us were just going in one house on the outskirts when we were fired on from inside the house. No one was hit and we scattered for cover very sharpish. Three of us opened fire at the windows and door while the other two managed to get close. They threw in grenades and then there was silence. After cautiously getting in we found two men in there, both dead, with some radio equipment. There seemed to be a lot of spies about, called fifth columnists. We felt very pleased with ourselves when the others came and found it was all over. I don’t know whether they were French or German as they were both in civvies.
On the 23rd of May we moved off at 7:00 am and rejoined our battalion at last. We were told that they had reported us as missing. The bombing was almost continual now and we saw nothing of our Air Force. The refugees were blocking all the roads. There were thousands of them. Where they were going, I don’t know, but it was a very pathetic sight. They were just trying to get away from the advancing Germans.

We were marched off again arriving just outside Hazebrouck where some of us were guarding a crossroads. I went straight on guard duty with the Ack Ack guns. The Germans were, by now, bombing and shelling non stop. Also Stuka dive bombers came over, the first we had seen of them. They made a terrible, demoralising sound, as they came almost straight down, emitting a piercing scream all the way. They were very accurate in their bombing.

The bombing became so fierce that we had to withdraw. We made our way to a wood, using ditches and cover as much as we could. The wood wasn’t very dense and had a road running through it. We were told to stop anything coming through. We were split up again, leaving only three Platoons and some Artillery. I did manage to get a little sleep that night, the first for about three days. My feet were all swollen and blistered.
Early on the 27th I had finished my breakfast and moved away from the main camp and settled down by a tree. I took my boots off and was resting when we heard planes overhead. Suddenly there was that awful screaming of the Stukas and the air was shattered with explosions all around. I dived head first into a trench, the camp was hit and there were shouts and screams from the wounded. I don’t know how long it lasted but it seemed to go on for ages and the din was terrific. I was crouched down in the trench scared stiff, waiting for the bombs that were landing all around, to go off. Eventually there was silence except for the moans of the wounded men. It didn’t last for many minutes; almost immediately the big guns, which had got our position spot on, opened up and we could hear the shells coming as they whistled towards us. In between I dashed out and retrieved my boots and we tried to get organised in the trenches behind the road. I was in one trench with two other chaps; it was just big enough for the three of us, about four feet deep with a small bank of earth along the front. The big guns suddenly stopped and there was silence. We knew what was coming next; the Infantry, but where?

Suddenly we saw them coming towards us. The Officer called “Hold your fire” but they were coming ever nearer through the trees. I kept thinking “For Gods sake hurry up and give the order to fire!” as they seemed to be getting very close. At last the order came, we opened up and they all scattered back like rabbits. It was a nice sight to see them scattering and disappear – some didn’t though, they stayed where they were, very still. All my fear had gone now; I don’t think I thought of anything really; now that we had started doing something it took our minds off other things. The fact that we were firing on other living people didn’t enter our heads; all we thought of was to keep them away from us.

They kept attacking and getting closer throughout the morning and then my blasted rifle jammed. I had had trouble with it before and got down in the trench to fix it and as I did there was an almighty explosion right on the edge of the trench. A hand grenade had landed there and as both my mates slid back into the trench, dead, my fears had come back. There was blood everywhere and I couldn’t hear a thing for a few minutes as the blast had deafened me. I thought Jerry would follow it up and be on to us, so I scrambled up and started firing as fast as I could at anything I could see. All around me our boys were doing the same and we beat them back for a while. Then came the order to withdraw, which we did in stages, with heavy covering fire. When we had reformed further back I found that Hugh was still alright – we were glad to see each other and said we would stay together from now on.

By now we had retreated towards the edge of the woods and decided to try to get out and hole up somewhere outside, but we were beaten to it. As we approached the edge there were bursts of machine gun fire and Hugh, who was about two to three feet in front and to the left of me fell screaming “You bloody !*****!” I dropped flat with bullets flying all around, I had never moved backwards so fast and so close to the ground. I looked around for Hugh but he was beyond help. He was laying so still and in an unnatural position. How I survived without a scratch I will never know, as we lost a lot of men there.

We scrambled back, what was left of us, and made our way to another part of the woods. We could hear the Germans behind us, shouting. We came to another dip in the ground and tried to make another stand to beat them back, but there were too many of them for us. We managed to get to the edge at another spot and the Officer, who was still with us, said “It’s hopeless, look.” As we peered out into the open we saw a line of Tanks and Infantry. One chap said “God, it’s the whole bloody German army!” We could do no more with those out there in the open, just waiting for us, and we could hear the others coming up behind us, so we took the bolts out of our rifles and threw them away. The Officer went out waving a white handkerchief, with us following.

The Germans ran forwards shouting “Hans Hoch” and marched us back to their troops, jabbing with their rifles to keep us moving. They lined us up, (there was only about fifteen of us left out of three platoons) and ordered us to turn out our pockets. I had three hand grenades in my pouches and, without thinking, threw them on to the ground with the other things. I thought my last moment had come as they all jumped back, started shouting and levelled their rifles. They pushed me to one side, I’ve no idea what they said but we got over all that and they returned all our private possessions. One of them said “For you Tommy the war is over, we will be in England in two weeks.” Apparently they said that to every P.O.W. when he was caught.
By now we were all feeling very low and dispirited and very tired. I couldn’t forget Hugh; we had been together for so long. I was with the others but I felt so very alone somehow. It’s a feeling I can’t explain really; it was just as if everything had collapsed round me and I felt utterly numb.

Aerial shots of the Forest where the final engagement took place.

The Germans who overran us were the crack storm troops, the cream of the German Army. They treated us quite well, on the whole. They gave us some soup and bread and treated any who wanted medical treatment. There were some in Red Cross trucks though who were wounded, and if looks could kill we would have died on the spot. After a while they took us further back, in trucks and handed us over to a camp where there were hundreds more British and French P.O.W.s. The French looked as if they had come prepared with many having suitcases or kitbags packed with food and clothing; there was a very bad feeling between us. I hadn’t got anything to put the stew in that they were dishing out but after hunting around I found an empty pear tin, which I used. It had to do for the coffee as well, as I couldn’t find anything else. We slept in the fields ringed by armed guards. It was a bit of a shambles but the weather was kind to us and stayed dry.
On the 28th of May we woke up at 3:00 am and had two biscuits and a drink of coffee (well they said it was coffee) and were marched to Doullens. What a march; there were hundreds and hundreds of prisoners and the column seemed to stretch into the distance in front and behind. I can’t really describe how we felt – just very weary and very demoralised. We were issued with half a tin of stew at 9:30 pm after waiting since 5:00 pm for it. We slept, that night, in an old prison.

We marched all the next day and got another half a tin of stew and three biscuits at 8:00 pm. We passed thousands of refugees on the road and it was heartbreaking to see the state some of them were in and the way the Germans treated them.

On the 30th of May we were up at 5:00 am. There was no food and I passed out for a few minutes before we started marching again. I guess it was down to lack of food and exhaustion. We marched for the rest of the day and into the night. At 12:30 am on the 31st we were given a loaf of bread between six men and a tin of watery stew. My feet were in a hell of a state by now, swollen and bleeding. I had to cut the sides of my boots to get them on.

The guards we had now were a lot different from the ones who had captured us. They had treated us as fighting men and with a certain respect. The new ones, though, were very arrogant and abused us all the time. They were always shouting “Los Los Schnell” which means, roughly “get a move on quickly”. These were the first words that we got to know.

I met two of my mates, John Matheson and John Bedford. We were up again at 6:30 am on the 31st. I had a drop of stew in my tin and a loaf of bread between six men. I don’t know what their bread was made from but it tasted like sawdust (about the size of one of our small tin loaves) and the stew was watery stuff with nothing much in it – more like cabbage water.

We arrived outside Cambrai at 6:45 pm but there was no more food. Thousands of prisoners were there, including French and Belgians. They seemed to get all the grub; we didn’t get any. I went to Cambrai on the 3rd of June with a small party to clear the station. I managed to get some jam and dripping that I pinched from a store. Back at the camp it was a meal of stew and six to a loaf – plus the jam and dripping that I shared with the two Johns. While eating what we had I heard my name called out and much to my astonishment a chap came up to me called Joe Kerr. He was a friend of my brother Syd, who lived across the road from us at home; he was in the Tank Corps. We exchanged a quick greeting and then he dashed off to try to get something to eat, saying he would see me later but I never saw him again.

I have no idea of how many miles we covered during the days on that march. Several of our men were shot for either not moving quickly enough for them or loosing their temper and shouting back at the guards; that was fatal. In our weak state it was hell. We were all feeling very low in spirits still and couldn’t march in step but just kept going as best we could, putting one foot in front of the other. They always said “Only another two kilometres” but it stretched on and on. We were in a perpetual, stupefied daze; our only thought was that we had to keep going.

The next day we left Cambrai station crammed into cattle trucks, seventy men to a truck. We were locked in and there was only one tiny barred window in each corner. We had no food at all. It was terrible in those trucks; there was no room to move about, much less lie down and we had to stay in the one spot all the time. That night was pure hell. Every so often someone would shout “Where’s the bucket?” and it would be passed over our heads to the person, he would use it, and back it would go over our heads to the window to be emptied if possible. More often than not more came back in than went out. It’s just impossible to describe what it was like in there. They let us out in the morning, before we got to the station. There was a quick dash to the edge of the embankment, row upon row of bare bottoms and then back on the train.

We stopped at a station in Belgium and had a slice of bread at 6:30 pm. We moved off again at 8:00 pm. without getting off. We tried to get a bit more organised that night. Half of the men crammed tighter at one end of the truck (if that were possible) and the other half tried to lay down and get some sleep. Even the there were six or seven pairs of legs on top of yours. You would struggle to get yours on top, get some sleep, and then wake up to find your legs numb and at the bottom again. That went on until it was time for the other half to have a go. I don’t think it was much better - I do know I didn’t get much sleep – and the bucket was in use all night long. By now the atmosphere in there was pretty high, to put it mildly. We stopped at a place for about three hours. It was near a town or a station but I don’t know where. There was an air raid and the chap by the window was trying to peer out of it and give a running commentary of what was happening. We didn’t feel very safe in that confined space. It was a very slow journey, with lots of stops, but they never let us out once.

At 8:00 pm on the 6th of June we arrived at Trier, on the German/Luxembourg border, and were marched two miles to a prison camp. We were given a loaf of bread between six men and a piece of cheese at 11:00 pm. When we divided the bread up between us, one chap cut it up into as equal portions as he could (with all the others watching him like a hawk). He then put them under cover, held one portion, called out “Who’s for this piece?” Someone would say “me” and so it went on until everyone had had his share. It was the fairest way as no one could say that someone had had a bigger piece than he had. It was the luck of the draw; the system worked very well and was used all the time I was there when there were things to share.

The next day I was up at 6:30 am. I had a tin of coffee and then lined up and waited six hours for bread and jam which we never got. We lined up again for tea at 8:00 pm and still didn’t get any. At 9:15 pm we were marched off to the station at Trier and crammed into cattle trucks again. (Still 70 men to a truck.) At 11:00 am the next day we stopped and were given a piece of bread and a bowl of soup by the German Red Cross. That was the best meal since we had been captured. I tried to keep the bowl but they were watching too closely.

9th June. The previous day and night on the train had been terrible; it was only stopped once to let us out and line the embankment to stretch our legs etc. Two of the men were very sick, although we were all feeling pretty rough. If you can imagine seventy men crammed tight in there, the weather was very hot, there wasn’t a lot of air and the stink was unbearable. It was hell.

We arrived at Schubin in Poland at 8:00 pm. We scrambled out and then marched about two miles (it seemed like twenty) to a Stalag. John and I helped a sick man all the way, with us holding him up as he walked between us. Some Polish women gave us coffee and bread on the way and, for a change, the guards allowed them to. The country was flat, which was a blessing I suppose as at least we didn’t have any hills to climb. It was very dusty and hot and I felt very dirty. What wouldn’t I have given for a nice hot bath? The Polish women we met tried to talk to us but I haven’t a clue what they said. They didn’t look very happy or very well off; I don’t think they could afford to give us what they did but they seemed to be pleased to do so and we appreciated it very much.

Schubin was a small P.O.W. Stalag. A Stalag is a main camp where there are hundreds of prisoners and acts as a centre for working parties. There were Polish P.O.W.s there as well but we were separated from them by a barbed wire fence. Around the entire camp there was a double wire fence with sentry boxes, spaced at intervals and manned by guards with machine guns. The sleeping quarters were long huts fitted with two tier bunks. Roll call (Appel) was held every day at 7:00 am and 6:30 pm. We were supposed to stand in rows of five but they lasted so long (the Germans were terrible counters and they had to do it about four or five times every roll call) and we were so weak that we kept dropping down to a sitting position. This didn’t help their counting, or their tempers and they would start shouting threats of all sorts until we stood up. Then they would start again until they finished to their satisfaction.

During the next few weeks we did nothing but dodge the camp fatigues, such as emptying the latrines and clearing the compound etc. The daily routine consisted of roll calls and lining up for meals. Breakfast was a piece of bread and coffee. Dinner was soup or stew (there was no difference) and a potato. Tea was a piece of bread with either a spoonful of jam or margarine, or a piece of sausage, and coffee. The bread varied between four and six men per loaf and were still of the same size. They were black and very coarse, just like sawdust. The German Army had the same sort of bread issued to them.

During this time I sold my pocket watch for a loaf of bread, a packet of tobacco and forty pfennigs to a Polish P.O.W. It was a Polish loaf, which were about a foot across and four inches thick. The watch didn’t work but it didn’t seem to worry him.

One day I saw some chaps looking through the seams of their clothes. I didn’t know what they were doing at the time but I soon found out when I became lousy as well. We couldn’t get rid of them however hard we tried. There was a canteen there but it wasn’t of much help as we never had any money issued to us. All we had was what we could flog to the Poles but nobody had much to flog. There wasn’t much to buy in it anyway and it was mainly for the Poles who had been there a long time and were paid a little for working on outside farms although I did buy a loaf of bread with the forty pfennigs.

On the 22nd John Bedford and I volunteered for a working party, hoping to get some extra food. After three quarters of an hours marching we arrived at a farm and started work on a threshing machine. In the afternoon we filled palliases with straw. We got an extra loaf between twenty men! It worked out as a very thin slice each, so it was hard work for nothing.

We mostly spent our time walking around the compound, talking mainly of food and what we would buy when we were home. We went to sleep thinking of it and woke up thinking of it.

On the 23rd, three hundred men were selected to move out the next day. Harold Spencer, John Bedford, Shorty Rickard and I were picked but John Matheson wasn’t. He had been pretty sick for several days now and we were sorry our little group had been broken up. John Matheson felt it badly and we were sorry to leave him behind.

We were up at 4:00 am, issued with a third of a loaf of bread and half a sausage, and moved off at 5:45 am for the station. With fifty men to a truck it wasn’t quite so cramped as before, and it wasn’t such a long journey, but we were glad to get out when we finally reached Poznan at 2:30 pm. They then marched us through and around the town in, what we later found out, was a victory march for them, and to show us off to the Polish people. The Poles were very good to us (or at least they tried to be). They attempted to get food to us on the way but were beaten back by the guards with their rifle butts. There was one teenage girl being beaten on the ground. We all started shouting and moving towards them which made the guards concentrate on us. They fired their rifles over our heads and it got a bit ugly for a time, but we were pleased to see that they had left the girl and she was being helped back by her own people. All around the town there were scuffles with the Poles when they tried to give us food. A lot got away with it but some didn’t.
We eventually ended up in a fort on the outskirts of the town – what a place! We were put into a concrete, cell-like room that had a one foot square, barred window high up on the wall. There were about thirty five men to a room. There were no beds and we slept on the damp, concrete floor. The fort was a very old fortification with a moat around it. The only access was by a drawbridge across the moat. There was a small door that led into the moat. This was the only place that we could get exercise and where the daily roll calls took place. It was very damp and cold and as this was summer I hated to think what it would be like in winter.

We didn’t get anything to eat that day – they couldn’t get the fires going. The next day we did get a watery stew and a drink of coffee late in the afternoon but that was it for the day.

On the 27th we went on a working party, road building, and managed to get some bread from the poles. They were very good to us and took a lot of risks. Every day after that, while we were there, the routine was more or less the same. Roll call morning and evening and three quarters of an hours march to the road works. The work sometimes varied to working in a sand pit or cleaning out a building. We spent our evenings bug hunting in our clothes – we were crawling with lice by now, it was impossible to keep them down. We were getting one meal of soup per day (it was just like cabbage water and two drinks of coffee (I heard they made it from burnt acorns – it was horrible anyway).We never saw any water, that all went for cooking, so most often we went dirty. It was no wonder we were lousy.

On the 30th of June there was nearly a riot. I don’t know what started it to this day but I was sitting in the moat with my mates when there was a lot of shouting. The guards came running out on to the drawbridge and started shooting into the moat. Everyone scattered for cover and then started to throw stones, or anything we could get hold of, at the guards. They then brought out the machine guns and opened fire so we retreated into the fort. The guards came in, in force, and threatened to shoot some of us but it eventually quietened down. Miraculously no one had been hit. Soon after the Sergeant in charge of the camp came round and asked everyone to sing as loud as they could. We did and created a terrific din – it was the only way we could show the Germans our contempt for them. I think they thought we were mad.

On the 2nd of July I sent my first card home to my mother and father. I wrote that I was very well and being treated well. I couldn’t do much else as I didn’t think it would get to them if I told the truth. Also they would worry a lot more then. I was getting very thin and I kept putting fresh holes in my belt.

On the 9th of July Typhoid had broken out and John was very ill – as if we didn’t have enough to cope with. A quote from my diary reads “meals very bad here, goes straight through us, men falling while marching to work, it’s terrible here, barely enough to keep going, steadily becoming weaker.”

The entry for the 23rd reads “ I managed to get a few potatoes so we cut them up into as thin slices as possible and ate them raw in our soup. My ankles are very bad now, they are both poisoned and I have got a rotten cold. Altogether I feel pretty lousy. Had to get rid of what was left of my socks. I haven’t any others to wear. Swapped some tobacco I had left from selling my watch (I didn’t smoke then) for a very small blanket. (It was very welcome at night.)

On the 27th a crowd of us got together and had a sing song. It brought back a lot of memories; we sang all the old songs and it was a very good evening. My ankles were in a hell of a state by now and it was a job walking, let alone working. They were chafing on the boots due to having no socks. By now I also had a lovely beard. Tempers were very short and there were frequent fights. There was a good one in our room between a Scot and an Irishman who beat the hell out of each other and five minutes later were the best of pals again. All the fights started from nothing really but at the time the little things seemed more important.
On the 8th of August I went on a new job clearing out a station. It was about eight miles there and back. There were Polish civvies nearby and now and again, when the guards weren’t looking, they threw a loaf of bread to us. It was the first time that I had ever fought for food like that but we were so hungry. About six of us just dived for it and were rolling on the ground fighting to get at it. I managed to get a piece, which I shared with my mates. In the station there was a pair of scales and we all weighed ourselves. I had a shock as I went 7stones 6 pounds instead of my usual 10½ stones.

On the 24th of August, I couldn’t believe it but a guard pinched a loaf of bread and gave it to us. I also found a packet of tobacco that a Pole had put in a sand truck for us.

Three of the men back at the camp were beaten up by our own men for letting the guards take a photograph of them giving a Nazi salute. They were beaten up pretty badly and had to be sent to hospital in the town. I bet they didn’t do that again. We were terribly lousy now and every seam in our clothes were full of lice and eggs. We would burn them out with lighted cigarettes and matches but it was a hopeless losing battle. I swear my shirt would have moved on its own if left on the ground.

On the 26th of August we were paraded outside with all our kit and marched to the station. At 1:00 pm we left, fifty to a truck, and arrived back at Schubin at 5:45 pm. We were glad to get away from Poznan – nothing could be worse than that place.

Aerial Views of Fort VIII at Poznan

Back in Schubin Stalag on the 27th of August we found that the place is better organised than when we were here last. However it was still a scramble to get our food and still the same watery stew and six men to a loaf. The bread issued at breakfast was supposed to last for tea as well and I was becoming expert at cutting it up into as many thin slices as possible.

I had a medical inspection and at last I had something to put on my ankles. Also two pieces of flannel were issued to us to use as socks. I had to have my hair and beard cut off so I was now as bald as a coot. I also had a bowl issued so I was able to throw away my old pear tin. I had got quite attached to it but I wasn’t sorry to see the back of it as it was getting a bit battered and rusty.

I sold my wristwatch to a Pole for five German Marks. I didn’t like getting rid of it, as it was a twenty first birthday present from my parents, but I’m afraid I was too hungry to be sentimental about it – I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded under the circumstances. I also swapped my shirt for a loaf of bread. (I threw in the lice for nothing!)

On the 4th of September I had my first Red Cross issue. It consisted of one tin of milk, a third of a tin of marmalade, half a bar of chocolate ten fags and three cheese spread. It went down well – I had forgotten what things like that tasted like. On the 7th I was issued with a Polish Cavalry greatcoat. It came down to my ankles and went around me nearly twice. I also got a blanket, pants and two more squares of flannel for socks.

With the money I got for my wristwatch I was able to buy extra bread, jam and biscuits from the canteen, which opened for one hour a day. The British still hadn’t any money to spend, apart from what they could sell their personal possessions for to the Polish P.O.W.s.

It was very monotonous there with nothing to do but wander along by the barbed wire fence between roll calls and queuing up for our meals and rations. We talked endlessly of the food we would buy when we got back home. One good thing about being back at the camp was that with less marching my ankles were getting much better. Although there wasn’t much to do there we were glad that we were away from Poznan. Also we did get a bit better food, although it still wasn’t very good. There were a lot of men there that couldn’t take it and went round the bend. It was pitiful to see some of them and some just died.

I met John Matheson there again. We were pleased to see each other and had a lot to talk about. He hadn’t been away from the Stalag and he looked worn out and thin. I wondered if I looked the same to him but we were to part again. I was picked to go on a working party on the 9th and he wasn’t on it – or any of my mates for that matter. I didn’t like to stay in the Stalag for long as it was very demoralising and I hoped that this working party would be better than the one at Poznan. I didn’t think it could be any worse.

On the 9th of September, thirty of us were issued with one third of a loaf and, after saying cheerio to all our mates, we paraded on the compound and moved off. We were cheered off by all the other men as was the practice when any party left. Upon arriving at the station at Schubin we were put in a cattle truck and we moved off at 8:00 am. After a very slow journey we arrived at Mogilno.

Mogilno was a very small town and in better times it would have been a peaceful, pretty place. When we alighted from the truck we were taken to a hut and given a bowl of soup, which was quite thick for a change! We were then marched through the town and came to a convent on the outskirts. (This was a Benedictine Monastery not a convent.) We were billeted ten to a room and given a loaf of bread between four – a big Polish loaf too. We thought that perhaps our luck had changed at last because we had been treated better this day than at any time since we had been captured.

The convent was built on top of a hill overlooking a very wide river. There was a twelve foot wall running along one side and then about thirty feet between the wall and the convent, which had a church adjoining it. This was locked to us and the guards. We had a good sized room with a stove in one corner. The Fuhrer (Officer I/C) came around to each room and said that we would get bunks later on and hoped we would be comfortable. That was the first time that anyone had said that to us. He was only a little chap but he seemed very human, especially considering what we had seen of the Germans so far. We had a meal of thick pea soup later and we all hoped that this was a good sign that this would be a good camp.

Mogilno Monastery Today.	Mogilno Monastery in Winter
Sketch of Mogilno Monastery by the author
Camp money

Our job was to build a barbed wire fence around the rest of the building, from the wall and get the place organised for a P.O.W. camp for more men who would come in later on. The camp was to be a base for road building.

That week, until the 15th was the best time I had known since early May. The food was better; thick pea soup, more bread (four to a loaf and Polish bread at that) and we received a lot more extras that the Poles slipped to us over the wall. Even the guards didn’t take much notice of this. When we had to go into town for anything the locals always put bread and tobacco in places where we would find it. We built two tiered bunks in each room and I had a top one in the corner. Although the windows were barred we had a fine view over the river which was about one hundred and fifty feet across. The guards were quite good and turned a blind eye to what was going on, when the Poles gave us things. Some evenings, when it was fine, they let us sit on a flat parapet on one side of the building. One chap in our room had a beautiful tenor voice and would stand on the edge singing songs like Ave Maria; it sounded lovely over the river as the sun set. (Poland had some of the most beautiful sunsets I have ever seen.) The Poles and the Germans had rowing boats on the river and they would stop for ages below us, listening to him. We closed our eyes, dreaming that everything was at peace and tried to forget where we were for a while. I think that was the most relaxing time of the whole period while I was out there. The work was easy and the guards didn’t bother us. However alas, it couldn’t last.

On the 16th of September one hundred and seventy more men arrived. They brought with them a Red Cross parcel between three men, for us. It was a grand birthday present for me as I was 22years old that day. I had a wonderful drink of tea and each one of the boys in our room gave me something from their parcels. Looking back on it now it seems strange what they gave me; one spoonful of sugar and jam, a square of chocolate, three or four prunes and so on. Little things they seem now but believe me they weren’t little things to us at the time. Food was the only thing we had to give and it was a sacrifice to part with anything of that sort. It was a birthday that I will never forget.

From then on it wasn’t quite so free and easy. The guards tightened up on the discipline (there were a lot more of them now) but the ones we had the previous week were still pretty good if they were on their own.
We now went on working parties to the road works. My job was to load a skip with earth, push it on rails for a quarter of a mile, empty it and go back again for another load. There were six men to a skip. In the mornings, when we got to site, the first thing we did was look in the skip and all around it because the Poles would put bread and fags there if they could. In time this stopped as the guards would go and look in all of them first and take out anything that had been left.

By the 23rd of September the Red Cross parcels were all finished. What a difference they made to our rations. Most of us paired up with another chap so that we shared what we got; it went further that way. Willie, the guard, gave us twenty four small fish that he had caught. We shared them in our room, boiled on our stove and they went down well. (Although I don’t know what they were.) There was great excitement as some mail arrived. We all waited patiently until it was handed out but I waited in vain as there was nothing for me. How I envied the others who were lucky and received one.

The rations were in very short supply again and the Fuhrer was trying to get us extra. He seemed to be upset because we were short and came round to our rooms and apologised for not being able to get more. He said that he had to make do with what was sent to him. He seemed to be quite a good chap and fair, for a German.

On the 27th I had a good day. Three of us went into town to unload coal from a railway truck, with two guards, one of which was Willie. We finished early, at about dinner time. The Poles gave us thick pea soup with bread and instead of taking us back we just sat around until the usual time we would leave. The guards even got us some extra bread from somewhere.

Until the 13th of October the food was very short. Our Red Cross parcels were long since gone, the stew was watery (though thicker than at Schubin and Poznan) and it was six men to one of the small German loaves. We got a bit extra from the Poles, if we were lucky, and sometimes, if we were with Willie, he would slip us a packet of fags. Whatever one managed to get was shared out between us in our room. We were lucky in having a good crowd in our room who all mucked in well. Some rooms didn’t and this led to squabbling. Fights were fairly frequent when food was short and you always get the odd one who will try and take advantage. Coming back one day I caught one chap coming out of our room, which was empty at the time. He was only up to one thing and I got stuck in straight away. Then the others came along and he was a bit the worse for wear when he went.

On the 13th of October we had our second Red Cross food parcel, one between two this time. I also got paid 7 Marks 35 Pfennigs so we could order bread now and it was brought to us from the village. We also brought razor blades, pencils, combs and notebooks; it made a big difference and everybody was feeling a lot happier. With the food from our parcels we made all sorts of concoctions. I made a cake from crushed biscuits mixed with raisins and a little dried egg powder; we thought it was smashing. Biscuits soaked and then fried made a nice change. (Although, much later when we had a Canadian parcel, the biscuits in them, when soaked, swelled up a lot thicker than the English ones.)

Poor old Willie got ten days confinement for getting us coffee on one job. Someone must have shopped him. He was one of the best Germans I met out there and was always trying to make things easier for us. I should think he was about 45 to 50 years old and he came from just outside Berlin.

He had a wife and two daughters. He hated the war and he didn’t have a good word for Hitler. However, as with all the others, he was scared to show too much familiarity towards us in front of the other guards.
Sunday the 27th. I obtained a Dutch hat and managed to get some water with which I had a lovely bath outside, in a bowl. We were all still very lousy and I kept thinking of how I should love to feel clean again. The old Fuhrer left and his replacement arrived. I wondered what he would be like – he didn’t look very special. It was bitterly cold. On the other side of the river there was a railway line and a lot of trucks were going by, loaded with armoured vehicles, covered in snow. The rumour was that they were going to Russia.
On the 1st of November it snowed quite heavily and covered everything. My old boots had nearly had it and the wet just poured in where I had cut them. I dreaded to think of going through the winter with them as my feet were already cold and the winter hadn’t started yet. The new Fuhrer was proving to be a right old so and so. He would get the guards to chase us out in the mornings with fixed bayonets and was shouting all the time. Nothing would please him and at the least little thing he would dish out extra work, or if it was an individual, he would give time in the cooler. I spent two days and nights in there on two occasions. One was for being late on parade and shouting “I’m coming you bloody goon!” He didn’t know what I said but guessed I wasn’t wishing him good morning. The other time I and my mate, Jack Baker, and three other men didn’t fill the skip full enough on one run and he happened to come along and see it. Also we answered him back. The guard got into trouble as well for letting us do it. (We used to put as little in the skip as possible so it was easier for us to push.) The cooler was in the coal cellar and it was dark, cold and very uncomfortable.

From the 22nd of November thousands of troops marched through Mogilno. Six of us were in there one day when a column marched through and there were a lot of brown shirts with them. One of them chased a Polish woman on the side of the street, knocked her down and started to beat her in the face with the butt of his rifle. He was shouting and screaming at her all the time but nobody took any notice of what he was doing. It was agonising to watch and be helpless to do anything.

On the 12th of December we went to the road works but it was too cold to do any work and the ground was frozen hard. We lit a fire and stayed there until it was time to go back.

The next day we left Mogilno to go to Schubin for de-lousing and stopped there for two days. After being de-loused we were issued with underclothing, mitts and socks (two more squares of flannel). I tried to get some boots and a shirt as well but was unsuccessful. We then left and returned to Mogilno at 4:30 pm.

On the 20th of December, thirty of us were told to dig up graves in a polish graveyard and break up all the headstones. We refused to do it, whereupon the guards cocked their rifles and took aim. We were scared they were going to fire but we didn’t move and still refused to dig up the graves. They then lowered their rifles and marched us back to camp, shouting and abusing us all the way. We were locked in the guardroom for the night with nothing to eat or drink. The next day we were marched back to the cemetery and told to get digging but again we refused. We went back to the guardroom and an argument took place between the Fuhrer and our camp leader. The outcome of it was that we were to just take the headstones to be broken up or we would be sent back to Schubin to be put before higher ranking German Officers where, our leader said, we might come off worse. At least we didn’t dig up any graves, which was what we objected to.
We had a Red Cross parcel, one between four men, on the 22nd, which was very welcome, and we were paid four Marks as well. More mail came but I was still unlucky as there was none for me. I wondered if the letter I had sent had arrived.

24th of December, Christmas Eve. The guards got us some beer from town, which we bought with our money. We had a nice sing song and some of the boys were drunk. The guards were also drunk and two of them fired into our window because a light was showing. Christmas dinner was pea soup! and we finished off with prunes and custard from the Red Cross parcels. We had a church service in the morning. After dinner we played cards until the evening and then went along to room 7 and spent the rest of the day with Taffy and Nick Dobson. We had a supper of bread and cheese, cake and tea. What a Christmas this year – everyone was feeling very low and depressed.

There was little work being done now as it was too cold and the ice on the river was two feet thick. I have never known it so cold. It was very funny seeing the horse drawn sleighs travelling about. They all had bells on them because they run so silently on the snow. The Poles cleared a stretch of ice on the river and there were a lot of people skating. We had a grandstand view from our window. If a German fell badly we would all give a cheer, although I doubt if they could hear us.

From the 1st of January 1941 until the 11th of March we didn’t go out to work because of the cold. During this time we were issued with Red Cross parcels on three occasions; one between two, one between three and one between four. Also we received two payments of three Marks and forty Pfennigs and one of one Mark and fifty seven Pfennigs.

To relieve the boredom we made our own amusements. I made a ship model whilst others did various things, like drawing, playing cards etc. We had five mouth organs sent to us, via the Stalag, from the Red Cross, with which we formed a band. I played one of them but the time went very slowly for us.

Three men escaped through the wire but were soon caught and brought back. They were half frozen and were beaten up on the Fuhrers orders. After that the Fuhrer made us parade outside for at least an hour, morning and night, and we were just about frozen ourselves by the time we got back inside. He also opened all the tins in the Red Cross parcels so that we had to eat all the perishable items first, within a day or two.

A load of clothes came in from Schubin. I managed to get a shirt at last; it was white and did it feel good! I also obtained a pair of Dutch clogs. They weren’t very comfortable and were too big but at least they were drier and warmer than my old boots, or what was left of them. It was terribly cold and we often lay in our bunks listening to the wolves howling. The guards told us that they came this way from Russia when it was cold and it gave us the creeps hearing them.

One Sunday we had a treat and those, who wanted to, were allowed to go to Mogilno, to church. Most did and we must have looked a strange lot marching to church; most had greatcoats too big for them, there was an assortment of hats and balaclavas and most wore clogs in whi