Camp Secretary

Before the first week was over, we again had a visit from the English-speaking German officer, an Oberlietenant. We were to elect four officers to help run the camp. A camp leader and assistant leader would receive orders form the German camp command and help settle problems of the POW daily living and help pass on any orders for the camp. Also, there was a secretary who was to make lists of incoming POW’s with serial numbers for reporting to the Red Cross in Geneva. He would keep track of vacant beds. Last was an interpreter. The camp leader, elected with his assistant by the guys, was an efficient guy as was his assistant. Neither guy made many close friends; both kept very much to themselves.

I was very happy to be elected to the job of secretary. I’d have a job. I realized that taking a job would make me known to the German guards and eliminate any chance of escape. I knew in my heart that I had no chance of escape from this camp. Any wild plans I heard from my fellow POW’s was nothing but misery and probably death, not escape. To try to escape with no knowledge of the language and no help was, I knew, an impossible dream. This job was better than nothing to do.

The translator, of course, was the guy on our freight car. He had grown up in a German-American family who spoke German in their home.

I didn’t talk to my friends about it, but I had made up my mind that I was going to get through this safely. I’d get home, and I wouldn’t take any chances that I didn’t have to take.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999