News From The Outside

The most surprising thing to happen in this month of March was when a friend approached me on my walk and asked if I would be willing to help take the daily news around to the other barracks. How would we get the news, I asked? He told me then that a couple of the guys had built a radio. They didn’t want their names known by everyone. They had gotten bits and pieces from guards by trading cigarettes, D bars and jam so you could suspect the Germans were hard up for things. I was willing and very anxious to know what was happening in the world outside of our camp. The news was from the BBC in Great Britain. That very day he told me what news had been received, and I started in a new adventure.

I visited other barracks and told guys what I knew and promised I’d be back but warned them not to let on to the Germans about this. I always had to watch out for the guards and for the guys we couldn’t trust. Another fellow and I did this for March and into April. We had a few POW’s with guts whom we had to thank for all this.

The job I hated the most was emptying the huge garbage can. It was always filled to the absolute top in the morning, and it was hard for two of us to carry and try not to spill before we emptied it in our outhouse.

Beyond the outhouse a little to the east was a barracks of Russians under heavy guard. They cleaned out the outhouse where we dumped our can. They did all the heavy work necessary in the camp. We never got near to them. It wasn’t allowed, but we could see them in rags; they looked desperate.

The outhouse, in spite of the smell or maybe because of it, was a wonderful place to get away from the guards, a place to gossip. It was a well of rumors and it was fun to start a rumor from there and watch it spread especially if you got a good one going. I got a couple of good ones originating from there.

The end of March we four, the camp leader, his assistant, the translator and I, were moved into a small two-room hut on the edge of the parade ground across form the barracks that the Germans used for supplies and equipment. The leader and his assistant were in the inner room and the translator and I in the other room. The room I slept in had a table, and I as secretary had a typewriter and paper and a book  on how to type. It was a French typewriter, and the book was in French, but I learned. I learned touch typing in a matter of weeks; I had plenty of time especially in the evening when our doors were locked.

We four never became close friends, but we worked well together. We liked each other but had our own friends.

I began a record on the number of beds we had and in what barracks and the number of POW’s and checked with the cook house on the number to be fed. Also, of course, now I was aware of new POW’s brought in and had to make lists of names, serial numbers and home addresses all of which had to go to the Red Cross after being censored by the Germans. Sometimes the new POW’s arrived after lock up, and I was taken out by the guards if they needed information about the bunks. When this happened, I was really scared of the guard dogs. They looked and sounded mean. I’d be glad to get back and locked in again.

It was in this small barracks that we had trouble with mice. We had separate beds the same as in the big barracks but single beds. I managed to get four klim cans and put the feet of my bed in these cans which I had filled with water. I hated the idea of the mice climbing into bed with me.

The most important thing in April was that mail came. In a week everyone got mail. I had letters from Grace, Mom and Dad, and my brother. I couldn’t focus my eyes to read at first; I just held the letters. They had heard I was missing in action and finally in March had word that I was a Prisoner of War. I read my letters many times. They were full of just family news and that was what I wanted. We read each other’s letters between our close friends. We knew a lot about their family and friends so their letters had almost a personal interest to each of us. Any pictures were admired and passed around. Often you’d see little groups reading their and each other’s letters.

Late in April, I think, I received my first parcel as did some of the other fellows. It was exciting getting this parcel but also very disappointing. It was badly damaged and almost everything that had been in the parcel was gone. What was left was so damaged as to be useless, but I had the pleasure of knowing I had had a parcel sent to me.

One letter I received from my Dad was so severely censored I could only read “Dear Joe” and the signature “Dad.” Our letters were censored in the U.S.A., in Geneva, and again by the Germans so by the time we got them, at least three other people had read them and decided what should get through to us.

Just a few days before our mail came, we were ordered one morning to clean the camp, and for several days before that the Germans had made repairs. The stew from the cook house was better and more plentiful, and we even had Red Cross parcels which we only had to share with one other guy. There was a wonderful attitude in this camp, everything in order. Peace and compassion was the rule. The next morning after our cleanup Red Cross representatives arrived to inspect conditions of the camp and the prisoners. Then we realized why all this goodness and light had been given us. Each of us had an opportunity to talk to a representative. I did as I still hadn’t heard from my folks and still wondered if they knew I was alive.

Only once again did we have this happen, a visit from the Red Cross, and that was in our next camp, and when the cleanup started, we knew what to expect.  After the Red Cross left, everything slid back to the way it was before the Red Cross visit.  The stew went back to its original standard.

We had now a sort of church service on Sunday organized by one of the POW’s.  It was mostly a gathering, and most everyone came.  It wasn’t much, but something in this meeting did give us some feelings of comfort.  By now the Red Cross had sent some musical instruments.  One was a bugle, and we had an expert bugler.  He now played taps for us at lockup.  I thought it was beautiful but so sad.  It filled me with longing for all this to end.  I was wasting my life here, and the end seemed so far away and so uncertain.

The taps always sent me into our locked barracks a little sad.  We could hear the dogs at least in this small barrack I was in.  The dogs couldn’t run around underneath because we were right on the ground as was the German storage barracks near us.  But by the time the lights were out, I’d always cheered up and slept well.  Our small barracks were warm.  We had enough briquettes and March was almost over.  We at least could look forward to spring.

Every morning after our doors had been unlocked and dogs taken out of the camp, two guys from each barracks carried their garbage can to the outhouse.  If we had the means, we’d heat water and make coffee with our instant coffee, if we had some.  It was as a POW that I learned to drink and like coffee.  It helped me to get warm.  We then would be summoned to parade.  Each barracks had an assigned spot where to stand.  We stood in lines four deep and one behind the other to be counted by the German guards.  Any confusion only made us stand there longer, and when it was cold or raining, it could be miserable.  Our camp leader and his assistant stood with the German officer in charge of the parade.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999