The Art of Staying Put

The morning of the parade after the first escape attempt had been made by two POW’s, and the two were from our barracks, we walked to the parade grounds each wondering how we would fare.  There was a plan organized by the escape committee.  We were to do a lot of talking in our ranks and especially while the barracks next to us was being counted.  Then just as our turn came about, we would start some fighting amongst ourselves.  The plan was that during this confusion while guards were getting order back and while all their attention was on us, two guys from the barracks just counted would step into our group, and when everything was quiet and they counted us, we had the correct number of men.  We managed this once.  The second day we didn’t get away with it.  I am sure the Germans were aware of it the whole time or at least by the second day.  The second day we were counted over and over, and we were discovered.  It took all morning.  We didn’t get our bread.  Everyone in our barracks was questioned, and we were locked in our barracks the rest of the day.  The third day the two who had escaped, we heard, had been caught.  We never saw them again, but were told by a friendly guard that they had had very bad luck all the time and had been beaten both by civilians and soldiers.  This all happened before I went to live in the small barracks with the camp leader and his officers, of which I was one, of course.

After we were separated from our barracks, we stood with the German officer during the count at parades.  Again, I thought as secretary of the camp I had allowed myself to become very visible to the Germans as had the others who had accepted an office.  But again, I say, because I thought a lot of escape, I felt I had made the right decision.  I’d stick it out to the end, and I’d get home.  In all the time I was at this camp only the two whom we never saw again really got out of the camp, although many tried it.  And here I was with a job, something to do and still enough time to be with my own friends during the day.

The escape committee passed the word around camp early in April that we were not to be passive, that as American POW’s we should be defiant and cause trouble for our enemies, the German guards.  On our next parade we were all to cause confusion, and we caused enough confusion so that the count came out wrong.  Standing near the German officer, I could see he was furious.  As strange as it seemed to me, I could understand some of what he said.  The German I heard had many words that sounded like English.  Beside that every day I heard it, and gradually guessing at it and having an English-speaking guard translate, I was getting some understanding.

I gathered we would be here a long time, and they were going to try another plan for counting.  All the POW’s except our four would be gathered under guard on one side of the field and made to march one at a time through a barricade manned by a guard and counted one at a time.  Now this was what our escape committee had guessed would be done, and it was up to us four, who were to help count, to go to work on the rest of the plan.  The plan was that after many guys had passed the point of count, one of us would say to the other and to the guards counting “was that 129 or 128” or whatever count we were at that moment.  By looking away for even a moment, the count was confused, and everyone who had passed the point of count would be sent back, and we’d start over.  This activity lasted for a couple of hours until we were afraid to try it any more.  It was, I thought, harder on us than the Germans.  We were punished, locked in our barracks, and honestly, I couldn’t see what good we had done.  We were hungry and tired, but we weren’t going any place, and it did give us a topic of conversation other than food, our families, and sex.

That was one day we didn’t get our walk, a walk done at least twice a day with friends around the circumference of the camp always in a clockwise direction and always away from the low wire fence, making sure not to touch this barrier.  I always avoided looking at the high wire fence about eight feet away from the low fence, and I tried to ignore the eight towers with their guards on the alert.  It was better if you didn’t always look at them.  It was better not to dwell on their presence and surely better not to attract attention.  That could be dangerous.

Living as I did with just three other guys was really luxurious, but each of us had our own friends and never became close friends; and after the doors were locked, it was a little lonesome.  I did have a job, and I had learned to type the touch system.  I was very grateful for that.  We were always in bed by dark or even before.  We could hear the guards and always the dogs, those ugly, big snarling beasts.  That’s the way they were trained, I guessed.

But one night stands out in my memory.  We were all awakened by the guards shouting and the sounds of alarms and shooting.  The sounds were coming from the parade ground.  We all rushed to the window looking across the parade grounds.  Our little barracks had a window while the big barracks had none.  We couldn’t see anything at first, but we suddenly saw two guys running together towards the outhouse at the far side of the grounds with guards running behind and the sound of shooting.  All this happened in seconds.  The men fell in a heap and were dragged away.  I didn’t know them, but I did find out they were never returned to their barracks and what happened to them no one ever knew.  I presumed they were dead as did everyone else.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999