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

American Air Force

In the morning when we came out, we heard that the plans were changed.  The American Air Force was sending cargo planes for us, and we would be picked up very soon.  In about an hour we were marched out of the camp.  I was hungry, tired, and the sores on my legs bothered me a lot.  I decided as we were leaving to abandon all my things except what I wore and my letters and pictures.

We marched out of the camp.  I had even left my precious coat.  The airfield was about a half hour’s walk.  We did see people carried out of a civilian prison.  They seemed to be in terrible conditions.  I was glad we were hurried past them.

We saw the planes, and they were ours.  The crews were Americans.  We boarded the planes, and we were free.  I tried to think of going home, but all I could think about was that I’ll never be hungry again.  I’ll never go to bed miserable because I was hungry, never, never, never.

As I remember it now, there was very little conversation in our plane.  I didn’t think of the past 18 months.  Now I experienced a new panic.  I was surprised that I felt an uneasiness at the idea of going home.  I didn’t want any change.  I hadn’t heard from anyone now for at least three months, so I had no idea of what may have happened over the last four months.  It took at least three to four weeks for a letter to get to me.  What changes could have occurred in the last 18 months.  Between the pain from my sores and my constant thoughts of food, I had had very little interest in anything else now for months, and here I was rushing off in an airplane to a new situation that I hadn’t had time or energy to think about.

We had been told we would be taken to Camp Lucky Strike in northern France for medical checkups, supplies, and arrangements for our return to the United States.  We landed about a half hour after our takeoff at an airfield where the Red Cross had arranged refreshments.  These refreshments were very bland.  I remember the milk, real milk that I hadn’t seen or tasted for so long.  But what else was there I don’t know.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999

Approaching Russians

That night after we were locked up, there were many unusual noises.  What little we could see from our window didn’t explain the noise, but when dawn came, the guards were gone, the dogs were gone, no guards in the towers, and the doors of the barracks were unlocked.

I went with some of the guys to the officers’ quarters.  Everything small was gone.  There was a radio turned on, but the only thing we could get that we understood was an appeal for help.  Over and over we heard “This is Prague, Czechoslovakia, calling the Allies for help.”  This appeal went out all day.

From our camp we could see out onto the North Sea.  We could see people out on the water in boats, mostly small row boats with women and children and old men just sitting out there terrified.  They knew the Russian Army was coming.  The Germans were absolutely terrified of the Russians.  These people feared for their lives and sat out there, I am sure, not knowing if their homes would still be there to come back to, if they lived through this day.

Then, we thought what if the population of Barth think of our camp as protection.  We rushed to lock our gates.  We hadn’t enough food for ourselves and no possible way that we could do anything for them.  We were lucky.  The people came very soon, and although they begged to come into the camp, we turned them away, and finally they were all gone.

Some of us walked out of the camp just to look around.  I went out by myself and wondered while I was doing this should I just keep going.  But then, I thought what if I got stopped by soldiers of any nationality.  How could I convince them of my status as an American POW.  What would they do, perhaps just shoot me.  There wouldn’t be a chance.  I was torn between taking a chance or not, and I let myself choose not to run.  I knew what I had here in the camp.  I knew that if we were, and I was sure we would be, overrun by the Russians, we would be recognized as POW’s and surely turned over to the Americans.  So I walked back to the camp.

I passed an old couple standing by their barn.  They were holding each other and crying.  They had their cow in the barn.  The noise of battle was gone.  It was quiet, so quiet that it was fearful.

When I got back into the camp, some guys I knew just had come back from a tour of the area.  They displayed loot they brought back, women’s jewelry, some German money.  I was appalled.  I had always been so sure our guys wouldn’t do anything like this.  They claimed they just pointed at the stuff that the German civilians had after they had walked uninvited into their homes, and the women just gave them anything they pointed at or anything they took, gave it to them in fear.  The guys who did this had no compassion and some of them I thought had been friends of mine.

About noon the Russian army started to appear.  The first evidence of them were soldiers on horseback.  They galloped along on huge horses.  These soldiers wore many medals which bounced against their chests.  We were being liberated, but we weren’t sure.  There wasn’t any wild display of joy.  There was only quiet compliance.

Within an hour there were Russians everywhere.  We stood around and watched.  None of them took over the guard towers, but the gates were closed.  They rounded up the four of us who had been camp leaders in the camp before this one, and I was one of them.  This gave me some worry, but it was only to make lists of all the American POW’s.

We were put to work in the departed German officers’ office, and from their records the Russians wanted a completed list.  We worked all night at this list.  It seems so vague to me now.  I was tired and hungry.  We only had the remains of our Red Cross box and nothing from the cook house.  It had been stripped of any supplies.

Morning came, and we finished.  I couldn’t sleep in my bunk, it would have been too noisy.  I found the gate open so I wandered out to a field.  It was a warm day and the grass was dry.  It was spring and a lovely morning.  I just lay down in the grass and went right to sleep.  When I woke, I discovered the Russians had driven in a herd of cattle and had slaughtered them.  The meat was ground up, and we were each given some which we managed to cook and eat.  We didn’t get much, but it was delicious and a great supplement to what little we had.

The Russians announced they were putting on a show, an entertainment for us to which we were invited.  We were to go into a huge barracks that had been out-of-bounds to us.  My friends and I went together.  We expected some pleasant entertainment in spite of the language barrier, but there were guards inside the doors, armed guards, and they wouldn’t let you turn around and leave.  When I saw them, I wanted very much to leave.  The entertainment was all in Russian, their language, and after a while I tried to leave again and was turned back.  I really couldn’t even try to enjoy myself or try to understand what they were doing, I was so preoccupied with wondering, what next?

The barracks had a stage and benches for the audience.  I spent most of the time trying to understand what was happening and looking for any means to escape from this building.  I couldn’t understand the armed guards, and my relief was so great to find when the show was over that we were allowed to leave.  They must have used the armed guards to insure themselves of an adequate audience.

But before we left, we were advised that tomorrow we would be marched out of the camp and were to start a march to Odessa.  I had only a vague idea where it was, but I knew we’d have to cross Germany and Poland.  Some of us could make it, but how many would still be alive when the successful ones made it there.  We didn’t talk about it, but I was mad at myself.  Why hadn’t I walked away when I could have done it.  I couldn’t have been worse off.  In fact, I felt I would have had a better chance.   As I remember, I didn’t sleep much.  I tried to plan what I’d do and how much I’d carry.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999

Pain in Many Flavors

Days were getting longer and it was even getting warmer in the room.  Spring was finally here, early spring, and I should have felt better, but I didn’t.  I had a toothache; it was a constant ache.  The pain became very bad most of the time.  I knew there was a POW who had been a dentist in private life, and I knew that he had a pair of pliers and did do some emergency dentist work.  I went to him for help.  There wasn’t anything he could do but pull the tooth.  He had no drugs, nothing but his pliers.  I sat on a stool, showed him my aching tooth, gripped the seat of the stool with both hands, and waited.  He got the pliers into my mouth, gripped my tooth firmly and started to pull.  He pulled and pulled.  He changed his grip a couple of times much to my dismay, and gradually I felt movement of the tooth; then it was out, completely out.  It didn’t break.  I was lucky it came out whole.  My jaw was very sore, but the terrible pain was gone.  I did feel bad so that I forgot for a few hours that I was hungry.  My toothbrush was gone and had been for some time now.  The only thing I did for my healing jaw was to wash my mouth out frequently.

With spring coming, we’d be able to wash our clothes and had the pleasant surprise of a real shower.  We were taken to an outdoor arrangement where there were a lot of overhead sprinklers.  We stripped and crowded onto the wooden platform.  Not everyone was brought at once, but there were so many of us when I was there that we were elbow to elbow or face to face or back to back depending on how you stood.  It was dangerous to drop your soap.  If you could stoop, you’d probably never get back to a standing position.  But it was so nice.  We had time to wash and to get really clean, and the water was warm.  This happened only this once in this camp.

I began to get sores on my legs.  They began as little red spots and grew into ulcer like lesions.  They caused me much pain, and as they developed, they seemed to stab painfully into my muscles.  The outward signs were small, quarter-size crater-type sores.

There was gunfire in the far distance every once in a while, and this made me worry about my painful legs.  I needed them.  We had to assume that the fighting was sometimes close and sometimes driven back by the Germans.  The gunfire coming from the east, we felt sure it was the Russians they were fighting so close to us.

I really worried that the sores on my legs would make it impossible for me to walk.  I forced myself to walk many times around the camp.  The pain was intense when I started to walk, but once I was moving the pain subsided.  But, to stop walking caused the pain to come on again just as severe.  Much later I was told this was due to my poor diet and lack of protein among other nutrients.

I knew that we would be forced to leave here soon, and I just had to keep myself able to walk, so walk I did everyday round and round still agony to start and stop but fine while I moved.

Even with the constant pain in my legs, life was a lot better.  It was warm, and we could get out in the daytime.

In April a German soldier who had been a guard in our first camp came looking for Rudy and me.  He remembered us because he’d done some trading with Rudy and me due to the fact that I’d been the secretary of that camp.  We remembered him.  He was a brutal overbearing guard and not one we were interested in ever seeing again.

He sought us out.  He was desperate and wanted our help if he could get to America; he wanted to be able to go to either one of us for help.  He probably had also been to the other guys he knew and whom he had mistreated.

Neither of us would do anything for him.  We had even suspected him of stealing our food at times.  We hardly spoke to him, and he left us.  He looked miserable.  I felt a little sorry for him but not enough to even say I’d help him.

The battle sounds were more frequent now, and one of the guards one day said you guys had better dig yourselves a shelter.  He spoke English well.  He was a considerate chap as were many of our guards.  They weren’t all brutal.  He also said that the Russians might be over this camp even today.

Then we could hear the battle very close and could even see the clouds of smoke from explosions and gunfire.  We all grabbed our klim cans and dug, but long before we could dig an adequate shelter, the battle moved away and we relaxed and even stopped digging without a thought that we might still need a shelter.

Digging with klim cans was not the most effective means, and I really felt if the town near us, Barth, fell, then surely the Russians, who were our allies, would certainly take over this prison camp.  Surely, I hoped, we’d be turned over to the American Army — I hoped, I hoped!

Life went on at a dull pace.  I continued to look for potato peels and I walked.  Rudy’s foot had healed, and he walked too.  I’m sure for the same reason as I did.  We didn’t talk about our ailments.  I had no idea how far I’d have to walk when this was all over.

We never went out together.  There always had to be someone watching what food we had.  Everyone had a food partner for protection.  Just being out of the room did cut down on the time we thought about food so intensely.  Very often we told each other about great feasts we had with our families, wonderful memories but painful.  We thought more about the feasts than about our homes.

We no longer had a radio to depend on.  Our only news was rumors and what the guards told us.  We knew the war was going badly for the Germans but nothing of the details.  We were told Roosevelt had died and that Harry Truman was our new president.

We had burned all the wood we could tear out of the barracks.  Many of us were bothered by sores on our legs.  We no longer got any mail.  Red Cross parcels did get through in some amounts sometimes.  We hadn’t had parade for some time now.  I thought that most of the officers were gone because we saw only the guards on duty.  Some of these guards yelled at us for our obvious lack of sorrow because of the death of Roosevelt.  That wasn’t our most important problem at the moment, but some guys tore off pieces of our roofing as mourning bands on their arms, and that seemed to satisfy the guards.

One day while I was walking around the camp, a guard in one of the towers yelled down to us.  He was a guard we knew from the previous camp, one we liked.  It was very painful for me to stop walking, but I did so that I could hear him.  He repeated himself a couple of times telling us how lucky we were we would be going home soon, but he, he would be lucky if he ever saw his home again.

Painfully I started walking again, and I walked a long time that day.  I wanted to be able to walk out of this camp, and if need be, walk west until I could get help.  I decided I’d take nothing but my food, go it alone or with Rudy if he wanted to do this.  These plans were never firm; so much depended on what happened next or in the coming day or week.  We had no idea what would happen.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999

The Misery of Russia

As I said, Rudy stayed in the room mostly while I went out scrounging.  He played Russian Bank, a card game that caused violent arguments.  I grew to hate the sight of anyone playing the game.  I wouldn’t play it or even watch if I could help it.  After lockup I was trapped.  I had to be aware of it then.  My number of D bars was slowly becoming smaller and smaller.  I had now rationed myself to one-half a bar and only on Sunday.  I looked forward all week to Sunday and to the nighttime when lights were out and all was quiet.  It was a pleasure to wiggle into my two blankets which I had arranged into a cocoon style so that I had the same thickness on all sides of my body.  All settled down, I’d think of my D bar and wait.  When I thought all the other fellows were asleep, I’d get it out of my pocket and slowly eat the half a D bar, and for a while I felt sort of content and fell asleep.

Winter had seemed so long with the cold, the hunger and the monotony of being inside all the time.  And my hatred of Russian Bank and the arguments it caused was a constant irritant.

I had to be on constant guard of my food.  I could trust only Rudy if I went out.  It was about this time that I devised a plan of slicing my share of bread in the morning into five slices.  My plan was that I would eat my usual four slices during the day; then I’d have one slice to carry over to the next day.  If I did this every day for a week, on Sunday I’d have six extra slices of bread.  I wouldn’t tell anybody about this plan, and I thought about it a lot.  I’d have so much to eat on Sunday.  I’d have a feast then and top it off with my half of a D bar.

I never succeeded in carrying out this plan.  I’d go to bed thinking of this slice of bread that I had and no one else had and think of nothing else but this slice of bread.  I would try to think of something else, but I couldn’t; and I couldn’t sleep because of this one slice of bread.  I had to finally get the bread and eat it.  I excused myself by promising I’d carry out this plan after this one time of giving into my hunger.  I never succeeded, and in just a day or two gave up this whole plan.  I did, however, continue to slice my bread into five thin slices and spread the pleasure of it over the whole day.

It was hard to be hungry all the time, even after you ate.  No one can imagine what it is like, a constant ache and the only thing you think about and dream about.

I still received letters from home, but no one received any parcels.  I imagine they were all lost in transit or stolen by hungry civilians or soldiers.

I shaved only a couple of times a week and washed only my underwear because I wore all the rest of my clothes all the time to keep warm.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999

Stalag Luft 1

We arrived at our destination early in the afternoon.  We could see when we got out of the freight car that we were in the town of Barth.  We were marched through the town.  People watched us, but they were quiet.  It was now 1945, and the war had been going on so long.  The Allies were pressing them, and the Russians were advancing from the west.  Times were hard for these people.

We were marched out of the town north towards the North Sea.  This was a vast camp with a huge vor lager.  We weren’t being mistreated on this arrival, but the guards kept marching us around.  They kept breaking off small groups and joining them up with other groups all in a very obvious effort to break up groups of POW’s.  In one maneuver I was moved out away from my friends. I was dismayed, but in another movement I was marched right near to them, and as I passed, I jumped over into their group.  It was a crazy thing to do.  I could have gotten punished if caught, but I wasn’t caught and we four marched off together, but not for long.  Rudy and I were assigned to the small barracks and to the same room.  Russ and Gotty were off somewhere else.  We could visit them in the daylight.

These barracks had rooms with the same number of bunks in them as our last barracks, also a stove behind a low counter and a picnic table and benches in the middle of the room.  To our dismay the men already in the room talked mainly of food.  When sex was no longer the main topic and food was, you knew hunger stared you in the face.

I got a top bunk.  Rudy had a lower one on the other side of the room.  The room was cold.  It was getting late, and we received the usual stew.  When the lights went off, I went to bed fully dressed.  After all was quiet and I hoped most of the men were asleep, I took out one of my D bars and consoled myself with it.  I needed some support.  This was an old camp, and I knew that food was scarce and that times were getting tough for our captors.  We were coming to some kind of an end.  How would I get back?

This was winter, and we were advised after we had been there a few days that we would get only four brickettes of coal for our stove each day.  Brickettes were about four inches long and about three inches in diameter, hard pressed coal dust.  Our room held a meeting, and we voted to save the brickettes until Sunday, and on Sunday we’d have a warm day.  So on Sundays we kept a low fire going as long as we could.

The days were monotonous.  There were no organized activities here.  The room was only a little less cold than outside.  Red Cross parcels arrived, but never one per man, generally four men to a parcel and sometimes more, even up to eight men to a parcel.

Each morning we each got a piece of sour dough bread.  It looked as if it had been baked either packed in sawdust or sawdust added to it.  The bread was very dark rye bread color and bitter to the taste, but we ate it.

Some guys from another room found a way to get into the attic so soon all rooms had access to it.  A democratic plan was formulated.  Attic space above each room and half the space above the hall was private property not to be invaded by members from another room.  All wooden parts of the building construction not absolutely necessary to hold the building up could be extracted and used for firewood.  As spring came we could finally feel the building sway in the wind ever so gently.

One of the guys in our room made a small toy-size stove out of a couple of klim cans.  He had gotten some potato peels from near the cook house where they had been thrown.  For fuel he used bar soap from the Red Cross parcels.  It burned nicely without smoke and was ideal for this small stove.

We had by now been forced into a system of food partners.  You had to have someone you could trust with your share of food or else you couldn’t leave the room unless you carried everything out with you.  As it became more and more scarce, food was our most prized possession and uppermost in our minds day and night.

Rudy and I teamed up.  He was having trouble with one of his feet.  He thought it was frost bite, and I could see how it could happen, it did get so cold at night.  So on our team Rudy generally stayed in the room during this long winter, and I went out.  I had acquired a small box and with it I went out to look for pieces of paper and potato peels from near the cook house.  It was exciting to bring some back and also exciting when we had a turn at this small cook stove.

The potato skins were a big addition.  They weren’t good, but they helped.

The stew was an important event in our day.  Two guys would go to get the container.  Each day there were a different two men, and after they divided the stew as evenly as possible, the two who carried the container to the room had the privilege of scraping the insides of the container dividing what clung to the sides between them.  We all looked forward to our turn.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999

The Russians

At the end of the month while on parade the German officers announced we would be leaving in the morning for a new camp.  We should be ready in the morning early to march out of the camp.  None of us had trouble deciding what to pack. We owned very little, and it all went into the suitcase.  But it was cold.  I had a green knit hat my mother had put in the package that had the bean bag, and I didn’t want to wear it.  I didn’t want to attract attention.  I had a tan scarf that I had bought with some of my cigarettes from another POW.  I sewed about 12 inches of the scarf together at the center, which made a very practical hood and still left enough on each end to wrap around my neck or pull up over my mouth to protect me from the cold.  That is the way I marched to the train, my blankets over my shoulders, my overcoat buttoned and suitcase in hand with mostly my precious Red Cross food.  We marched down the long gravel road, the road we had had to run up only last summer.  There were no civilians watching us, only our guards.  We wondered if the civilians had been moved out too from this area because of the Russian advances.

When we arrived at the railroad station, there was the usual freight train, and as usual my friends and I got in the same car, and as usual it was packed so that it was only possible to sit with knees drawn up and suitcase alongside.  I had a terrible boil on my seat, and to relieve the pain, I rolled my blankets in the shape of a doughnut so that I could sit easier.

Soon we were moving.  We had been told as the doors slammed that we were being saved from the Russians.   It was a dark, overcast day.  Our total trip this time took two days and one night. We didn’t move very fast and were often stopped.  During the day Russ Goodwin, who had sung professionally, sang for us at times.   

We stopped during the day once, let out in a field, and got some water.  There were new guards here, much older men, rough in manner with their guns drawn and pointed at us, yelling “Rausch, Rausch” all the time.

At night we stopped and didn’t move most of the night.  It rained all night and was cold and damp.  We could hear much activity outside and could see other freight trains near us.  We kept very quiet.  We didn’t want to attract attention because we would be helpless if our train were attacked.

We could look out of the slats of the car and saw open freight cars carrying civilians in the rain.  We even saw civilians stealing food, we thought, from an open freight car.  All of these people out in the rain were evidently being moved from the approaching Russian armies.

Very few of us slept during that night.  It was too cold, and we really worried that our train would be attacked by the hungry people all around us.  But, I guess our guards kept them away.  I couldn’t see much of the guards, but they were always around.

Morning came and it had stopped raining.  We weren’t wet, but we were cold although the number of bodies did help, to some extent, in supplying some heat.  Although I tried to eat something from the case, I couldn’t.  I didn’t feel like it.

©Joseph H. Harrison 1999