A Raid Over Berlin

Chapter 6 On the Move

The evacuation of Stalag Luft VI was carried out, in July 1944, with no signs of panic from our captors; it was a hasty withdrawal but well organised. It wasn’t until very early in the morning on the next day, after seeing the columns of refugees, that we found that the whole of E Lager, where the Americans were held, had already been moved out.

As this realisation began to sink in armed guards entered our own lager, separating the two rows of huts. By the time I realised what was going on, the occupants of the hut directly opposite, where David was, had already been ousted. I watched as they were moved out, carrying all they could manage in hastily made backpacks, but I could not catch sight of him. They were herded off, much like cattle, except that the drovers were much more plentiful and had bayonets fixed ready to discourage any slow movers. It was not long before all the huts on the opposite side were empty, creating a strange silent atmosphere along the whole row.

It was not until the war in Europe was over that I learned from David, and others who went with him, what a terrifying experience all those on their side of K Lager, along with the whole of the occupants of E Lager, had endured. I soon realised that, not for the first time, I had been blessed by fate through having been allocated a different hut.

Their destination was a prison camp, close to the shores of the Baltic, called Stalag Luft IV, near the town of Gross Tycho in the Province of Pomerania.

From Stalag Luft VI, they were marched to the railway station and loaded into cattle trucks in which they made the short journey to the port of Memel. There they were loaded onto a very decrepit, small merchant ship, the Insterburg, which was normally used for carrying coal in its two holds. After being ordered to leave the packs containing their pathetic possessions on deck, using just one single vertical ladder, they were forced below, into a filthy hold. The weather by now was very warm and the heat, accumulated in the steel hold, was almost unbearable; what they needed desperately was water.

The floor space of each of the two filthy, stinking holds was crammed to absolute capacity with hundreds of men. Those on the sides had great difficulty in maintaining a foothold because of the slope of the hull, and it was only after a lot of shuffling around that room was found for most men to sit with knees drawn up tight, but the heat and the air quality got worse, as did the desperate need for water. Eventually this was provided by lowering just one bucketful down at a time. Those waiting were only able to watch while others drank; this must have been torture.

Although it must have been known that the voyage would take sixty hours, no provision had been made for sanitation. Only a few of the hundreds that had been packed into the holds had been allowed back on deck after the ship set sail to relieve themselves; the rest were expected to make do with a bucket. This was raised up and down by a chain just as the water had been; some said the same bucket was used for both purposes. True or not, a bucket soon proved inadequate for this purpose and a bit of the precious floor space in the hold had to be given over to human waste. With practically no ventilation, the resultant stench increased the misery below.

To add even more terror, it was known to some of the RAF prisoners aboard that mine laying operations were frequently carried out in this area of the Baltic Sea, as a result every bang on the side of the ship when it collided with flotsam caused them to cringe, waiting for an explosion. Another thing that caused great concern to the few who had been allowed back on deck after setting sail, was that they could see that an E boat was following them. Were the German crew of their ship to be taken off at some point, leaving all the prisoners helpless when it was sunk by a torpedo?

Thankfully, after two and a half days the ship docked at the port at Swinemunde and its cargo transferred back into what would become very crowded cattle trucks once more, for what should have been a short journey inland, but they were kept penned up like cattle with no water overnight.

The next morning, as the doors were at last slid open, it could be seen that the guards who had brought them from Stalag Luft VI had departed and been replaced by very arrogant and aggressive members of what can be described as the Kriegsmarine’s (German Navy) version of the Hitler Youth. They were each carrying a bayonet, and made it known that they intended to use the weapons by making a great display of sharpening them in full view of the prisoners.

It soon became obvious that on this final part of the terrible journey, it was the intention of those who had planned it to provoke the prisoners into making a mass escape. At intervals along the route machine gun nests could be spotted and moving along with the column was a film crew continually filming, supposedly to record the very start of what was hoped for. It was almost certain that only the strange sort of discipline, based on trust in their quiet unassuming leader, Vic Clarke, that prevented this from happening, when he sent word down the line, ‘Don’t try to run away out of line, that’s what they want.’ I would say, only someone who has been a prisoner of war would know why everybody obeyed without question.

The column, headed by a very tall German officer, had set off marching but his pace was so fast the prisoners had to run to keep up with him. The arrogant young sailors running alongside made sure they did so by slashing any stragglers with their bayonets unmercifully, and letting it be seen that they were enjoying it. David was stabbed twice in the back. He showed me the wounds after meeting up again, when the war ended, but told me how others had suffered far worse than he had. He was so modest; it was not until I read the book by John Nichol and Tony Rannell◦– The Last Escape◦– that I learned more fully of the threats, hardships, terror and suffering that were inflicted on these completely defenceless comrades of mine.

The remaining prisoners of K Lager and all those of A Lager were the next to be herded out after every single person was strip-searched at one table, while every item of clothing and all other possessions were examined at another. I mention this as an illustration of just how clever our clever men were, as, just twenty-four hours after arriving at the new Stalag, we were having the news from the BBC read out to us in the huts. Although the camp was already occupied, this service had never been available before, so all the equipment must have been smuggled out of Stalag Luft VI, concealed during the journey, and smuggled through another search, when we arrived. There were many speculations made as to how this was done, but no one would have been stupid enough to ask.

After revealing the horrors of David’s journey, I will just say that our journey was very uncomfortable, and we were very glad when it ended. While travelling across what seemed to be endless flat countryside, the central doors of our truck were slid open, purely because the heat was almost unbearable for the guards, but this allowed us to see a little of what we were passing. Someone who was nearer to the wire barrier, who had a better view of the outside, suddenly shouted, ‘Come and have a look at this kite.’ A kite was RAF slang for aircraft. Craning forward, I could just see something in the sky climbing almost vertically, very fast and leaving a thick vapour trail as it continued to climb to a very high altitude. That was all we were able to see before it moved out of our field of vision. If we had known what we were looking at we would have been very concerned, but it was not until after repatriation, some nine months later, that we first heard of the terrible flying bombs and then the rocket attacks that had been rained on London. What we had seen, of course, was the V2 Rocket being launched at some stage of its development. Perhaps intentionally and very wisely, any reference to what London suffered because of them, was kept out of our BBC news bulletins.

Our slow train continued to rumble across the flat, featureless country of this part of Poland for what seemed to be weeks, but in fact it took only two days to arrive at our destination, or at least as far as the train was going to take us, and that was a place called Torun. We remained penned up in the trucks, and from what could be seen from the partly opened doors, it was quite a modern station, with white tiled walls and smart looking platform. Our guards stood close by with their bayonets fixed at the ready, apparently awaiting orders. Having been packed in with hardly enough room to sit down, we were impatient to get out and stretch our limbs.

Eventually, and then to only one truck at a time, the guards shouted, ‘Out.’ As much as we wanted to, we could not do this very quickly, after being cramped up for so long it was quite painful to move. After each end section had been carefully checked for being empty, a count was taken. Normally we would have made the count as difficult as possible for them, that was our duty, but being so relieved to be out of the truck, this was allowed to be done at their first attempt.

Moving along the platform to where the whole train load was being assembled, I saw a sign on a door indicating a lavatory. This time we did our duty by pleading we needed this facility, thereby causing more delay. Upon opening the door, it could immediately be seen that this was where the smart station ended. The floor was bare earth and in the middle of it was a pit about a metre square. Erected above this was a fencelike support made of rough timber, that allowed an agile or very desperate person to sit on the bottom rail and use the top rail to support the back. I had never seen such a primitive arrangement before or since. However, this was not the main attraction as opposite the door, in the wall, where in a more normal situation would be a window, was just a hole. The prisoner next to me knocked my arm, and knowing immediately what he meant, moved quickly over to it. In the second or two taken to do this I was thinking, ‘We are now in Poland and might well get some help if we could escape.’ Hopes were very quickly dashed as waiting there, with bayonets pointing straight at us, were two or three guards. We quickly retreated to re-join the group on the platform and trooped off to be formed up again on the road outside.

The march from the railway station to the prison camp, despite having had no sleep for two days, was comparatively pleasant after being crammed into a railway truck. At least the air was fresh, and it gave some sense of freedom not being surrounded by barbed wire, just the guards, and even they seemed to be enjoying the march.

I can’t recall how far the camp was from the station, but while still in the town of Torun, or Thorn as it was also known, the column passed what I realised was a brothel, as from several windows of the upper floors of a large building several young ladies waved to us and smiled in a genuine sort of way.

Stalag XX-A, in Central Poland, was a long-established prison camp, so I suppose they knew who we were and where we were going, and being almost certainly Polish, were showing as much support as they dared. Whatever the circumstances, that was the first time since being captured that I had seen a friendly smile coming from a lady, let alone several ladies, and it felt good.

By the time we arrived at our destination it was getting dark. We were not put into huts initially, just a bare compound, but it was fully secured by the usual barbed wire and fully manned Posten boxes at each corner. Patrolling the inside was a strong force of dog handling guards, but that was all. There was little shelter; however, it was a warm night and straw had been spread over a large area. I don’t think this was put down for our benefit, perhaps cattle had been kept here previously, but there was plenty of room to lie down and stretch out fully, which everyone did quite quickly, and I had one of the best night’s sleep I can remember. On waking in the morning, we became aware that the ground and the straw must have been very wet as our clothing was soaked. This was soon forgotten as the sun was shining and it quickly got warm enough to dry us out. We then asked the usual, and far more important, question, ‘When are we going to get our bread ration?’