Red Cross

The Red Cross ladies were wonderful.  They were full of information and advised us to be careful of what we ate until our systems got adjusted.

We stopped again before Camp Lucky Strike at another airbase, but here it wasn’t the Red Cross, and they were unaware of what the wrong food would do to us who had been so badly fed for so long.  They served doughnuts, sweet rolls and coffee, and plenty of it.  Most of us couldn’t eat much, and the guys who ate lots were sick.  I heard that one guy died, but I am not sure of this.  I was surprised that here I was able to eat and eat and I couldn’t.  We had adjustments to make.  It would take time.

We landed at Camp Lucky Strike before lunch.  It was a huge camp of tents in neat rows, neat roads and paths and mowed lawns.  No fences, no guards, no towers and no one shouting “Rausch, Rausch.”

We were led to a large tent where we were told we’d have a chance to shower and shave and we’d be given new clothes.  This was a receiving tent for incoming POW’s.  They wanted all our clothes.  They intended to burn them, all but our shoes.  I admit we were dirty, but we weren’t lousy.  We had tried always to be as clean as it was possible for us.  I never saw anything on me or my friends.

We stripped and gave up our clothes.  There we stood waiting for the next tent and the showers.  We had to run between tents the way we were.  The showers were wonderful.  We weren’t rushed.  We had soap and towels and enjoyed ourselves.  We were given plenty of time.

Then it was back to the tent for our new uniforms, new underwear and all the extras we needed.  But we were told it would be about 30 minutes before all the clothes arrived.  We stood around for over an hour, I think, waiting all nude.  Fortunately, it was a very warm spring day.  Right at this moment I was down to not one possession, but I was warm, no longer a prisoner, and I could wait even if I was back to the way I was born into the world, naked and owning nothing.

We talked and waited.  It seems that a new shipment of uniforms had to be unpacked.  They came and we dressed.  Everything was new except my comfortable old shoes.

We were taken to a row of new tents with cots and wool blankets.  Even without sheets they looked wonderfully comfortable, no struggle with bed boards.  I hadn’t seen a sheet for so long I couldn’t even miss them.

We were asked to stay in our tents for just a little while until duffel bags and our clothes issue would be distributed, even toilet articles.  I could brush my teeth again, something I hadn’t been able to do for months.

We were told we were free to wander about, stop at booths for milkshakes, and line up for meals.  Such lovely meals even though the food was very bland.  We had been warned again that we should be careful what we ate for a while and that they would only serve food that would be good for us until our systems became adjusted away from our prison fare.  The only promise they made that didn’t come off while I was at Lucky Strike was a musical show that never happened, but I was very contented except for my anxieties about going home, and they bothered me keeping me from sleeping.

In a couple of days, the sores on my legs were so much less painful.  I could walk comfortably.  Rudy, Russ, and I wandered around the countryside.  I got a chance to practice my French and even had short conversations with some people.  I certainly was not good at it.

We three came up on a big barracks used for storage of German equipment.  All that was left was insignia of all sorts.  I picked up some stuff, not much.  I still have a mug with the German Nazi swastika insignia on it.

One of the guys with us who told us he weighed 210 pounds when he was shot down said he would do his best to get it back.  He had about 80 pounds to go.  We were all way under normal weight.

Although the sores on my legs were healing because of all this good food, I felt as if I had a cold. I sneezed constantly and my eyes watered a lot.  I went to the camp doctor to see about this.  We were supposed to be examined, but I could see that with so many of us it would take weeks or more.  The doctor said I was okay and I didn’t have a cold.  My eyes continued to water and my violent sneezes continued.  There must have been something in the camp causing me much distress and shortness of breath.

After less than a week at Camp Lucky Strike we were told that we could either wait for official transportation to England or work out some means of transportation ourselves, which meant hitchhike.  I asked what we had to do to hitch a ride on a plane.  I was told to pack my duffel bag and go out to the airfield, find a cargo plane with a pilot who will take you on with his load.  We were given papers of identification and notices that in 10 days we were to report to a distribution center in London.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999