mail to Tom Barker

POW Camp, P.O.W. no 12244

Don't read this if you are a puritan, also some text contains pigeon English, (fowl language). The following are short anecdotes that may interest you since your remark of four years is a long time to be locked up.

"What did you do all day"?. I will type this stuff in as I can remember it, except to say here that since there is no way for me to remember verbal exchanges exactly. I can vividly remember most situations and will add commentary from my imagination only to give you a better picture of the adversity or humor of the moment.

One of the vices of most service men is risqué language. I think this is brought about some times by the situation he sometimes finds himself in and he uses it to ease the boredom and frustration of army life. If I can I will put in dates where necessary, you can also cross check by writing to the war office File, Barker Thomas Osborne 2982252 1st Bn A & SH. I was also F/Sgt Harry Tenny RAF. According to or for the benefit of the Germans.

At first this caused my mother some concern since she suddenly was getting letters from a bloke she didn't know in Germany. I will come back to Tenny later. So I may as well begin at the beginning of the four years.

I will begin with 1st day, then take each different camp in turn that I was an unwilling guest of Adolf Hitler.

It began about the 1st of June 1940, a group of mixed remnants of regiments, about 200 were on the beach. Also amongst the rocks were a lot of wounded. I can vaguely remember two bods taking me to the beach, my head was bloody so they washed me off in the sea. Somebody had heard from a mate who had been told by a signaler that a submarine was going to take us off Crete. Because stukas would come over without warning the wounded were hidden among the rocks and caves. Anyone who could move under his own steam had to forage for food, water was no problem and I was surprised one day when I saw a bloke going into the sea with water bottles tied round his middle. I found out later there was a fresh water spring about 100 yds out one could clearly see a patch in the salt water, gurgling up.

We slept on the beach every night, the reason for this was the sub. If it did come it would not surface in day light because of the Stuka threat. So we had a lookout system organized, also we would sleep within reach distance of the next man, so if the sub signaled at night the whole mob could be awakened in total silence and be ready to be taken off in small boats. Sound at night carries a long way, and we were not going to give a roaming sniper a chance to pick us off one by one.

We had a lookout posted on top of a hill and he would signal with his shirt because although he could whistle pretty good if the wind was blowing the wrong way we wouldn't hear him, hence the shirt. He would let us now if Stukas were approaching or any other hostile bods, he was also a target for a Jerry sniper, when I pointed this out somebody quietly said "better one than all of us, he knows that". The second day on the beach a group got together and began repairs to a TLC, it had been left by the skipper of the destroyer that put us on Crete. There was another one in a cave further down the beach, it was also damaged. The navy boys who had worked these two TLC's were definitely dischuffed at the male organ who had left them behind. Some said he did right to get going before the Stukas came, however some days later a Stuka did come and while he was setting himself up to dive on the TLC stranded on the beach all the lads working on it downed tools and ran for cover. It was just as well because he put a bomb right through the middle of the TLC and it didn't go off but it made too big a hole to repair.

Later the disappointed repair mob scavenged off it what could be used and repaired the one in the cave. Richard, my son, gave me a book years ago and it has a parallel story. The book is GREECE CRETE AND SYRIA by GAVIN LONG read MAY to end of JUNE.

Anyway they loaded it with wounded and got back to Tobruk. There was also a three masted schooner up on the beach and if you have ever seen ants transporting a dead cockroach this is what it looked like. The similarity ends there because this boat was going no where. There were blokes on the end of a rope tied to the front of the boat, they even had rollers under it. Some were pushing, there was lots of foreign language flying about and an old Greek bloke was talking to me. I didn't have a clue what he was raving on about till a little lad maybe six or seven came running up to us and talked to the old man. The old man pointed at me then the boat then the water and I thought he was blaming me for nicking his boat, well trying to. Believe me that boat was going nowhere sitting on soft sand.

Then the little boy had a go at me. Him I could make some sense of. It appeared the boat had been beached some years ago with a view to repairing some of the hull. Anyway to quote the little lad, "boat no swim, on sand too long, big holes in bottom, not good, goodbye". I said "thanks and goodbye". They left, the little boy with his hand covered by the old man's fist. I think it was his grandad. I shouted "thanks" again, and the lad turned his head and shouted, "soright" and waved then they were gone.

Soon it got dark and all that could be heard were the waves pounding on the beach, sometimes the beach can be a very lonely place. Came the night and we got down to sleep on the beach when with a roar a big aircraft flying low went over. We waited for the whistle of bombs but instead he signalled with a light but nobody was quick enough to read it. He came out of the dark and was gone, but we were sure he was trying to tell us the sub was coming. Also if Jerry had seen the air craft signalling he would guess men were on the beach. So we had to keep a sharp look out all the time.

The next day a group went round with a hat and the spiel was, we are going to buy a sheep off the man up the road, he has two. Someone piped up why not just take both, where upon a officer Major McNab 1st A&SH said we are not brigands, we pay for one IF he agrees, we have already approached him and he needs to keep the other one for his family. So since we had money that was not going to be spent we might as well chuck it all into the bag and let the Greek think all his birthdays had come at once.

When the blokes got back with the sheep one of them told me "you should have seen that Greek blokes eyes when we handed over the bag of money for one sheep, they popped out like organ stops. He insisted there were too many drachma (too much money) for one sheep and if he got to keep the bag of money we could take both sheep.

We said take the money pushing the bag into his hands we took one sheep, when he understood he nodded vigorously and chanted "endatcy endatcy",ok ok. We gathered he was happy with the deal. He said some thing about now he could buy a new house. Then the RAF bloke, who had the sheep on a bit of rope asked, "now what?" To which some wit replied "why don't you kiss it"? that reminds me about the bloke who bought an ass once. Then an Ossie grabbed the sheep, cut it's throat, had it skinned, cleaned and quartered, and into this iron pot with a fire under it. Any resemblence to the Hansel und Gretal yarn is coincedental. Other scroungers put in onions potatoes etc, if it could be eaten it went into the pot.

By the way I was walking up Point Walter rd with our Tommy one day, and a bloke gave us a lift in his car. We got to talking about Crete and he said "oh where abouts were you"? I told him the sheep story to which he laughed an said "yea, I remember that, I was the bloke who killed the sheep. He also offered me the loan of a car till I got a job and got a car of my own. I thought it was a nice gesture but I declined the offer and thanked him. I also thought the world was not as big as I thought it was.

Next morning about mid morning somebody pointed down the beach and in the distance about half a mile two figures were approaching. Then every body stopped to look because suddenly someone said they're Jerry's. I had a long barrelled Canadian Ross with a telecopic sight and I lifted it up to take a look to varify they were indeed Germans, one officer and an orderly who was also interpreter. Somebody yelled don't shoot they are carrying a white flag. When the two reached us the officer saluted and said "I salute you all not because of military protacol but you are obviously front line troops and you have put up a hell of a fight. You are to be admired among fighters, with german officers you could rule the world. Somebody muttered "bollocks"! The German officer then went on to say "I will return tomorrow at dawn with a company of men and you will be treated as honerable prisoners of war, and as a German officer I give you my word you will be treated as such "those of you who wish to fight on in the hills don't have a hope, but if that is your wish very well," and he added "Crete is now ours".

When he had gone Major Mcnab said "I am not going to pull rank on you people but as the senior officer here it is up to me to organize some way to minimize casualties “Hands up those who have guns”. A few put up hands some said "but we have no ammo". So the officer said "ok to put up a fight is out of the question, also we have no food and if Jerry takes us at least the wounded will be looked after, so those who wish to can go into the hills and survive". Some left during the course of the day. McNab told me to get rid of that, pointing to my rifle "Jerry does'nt like snipers, not ours anyway "how much ammo have you got"? I replied four rounds, three days ago I had three hundred and fifty". “You have been busy," he said, now go chuck it into the sea.

Next morning a company of Germans arrived. Most of us with guns had already thrown them into the sea. So when they collected us they got blokes only, no watches or food only identity tags, and the rags we were wearing.

They fell us in and a jerry started walking across the front rank counting "iens zwei drie". Sombody had a little laugh where upon the Jerry sergeant asked with a snarl "warum lauchen sie" why do you laugh.? One of our blokes said "charming". So the Jerry had another snarl and glare. They marched us off the beach and we arrived at Heraklion, a small town on the coast where an officer looked us over. I was picked out along with about nine others who all had a bandages on and we were escorted to a building with a sign in german informing anybody interested it was a hospital.

A bloke in a white outfit took off the bit of shirt that had been wrapped round my head for three or four days, and with a lot of tutting and a smile he dabbed some stuff on and said I was very fortunate because now for me the war was over. There was a putrid smell every where. Then we were marched to Canea. This was a forced march the full length of Crete, since we had allready marched from where we had landed to Heraklion. Somebody guessed it was about hundred and forty miles. During the march we were rested ten minutes in the hour. Being an infantry man and having marched in Palestine on different skirmishes against Syrian bandits and the PLO since early 1939 it did not affect me as it did some others like clerics, sigs, and tank men. But on a low food diet it makes a big difference, and lack of water now made a difference. Jerry was also smart because at certain places along the route he had placed a new set of guards so that every day we had a different set of guards.

The German paratroops we had fought were like the college type of young man you would expect to meet at public schools in England, educated, good manners. But the guards now had changed and brutality took over from orders. Now the rifle butt in the back or a savage kick, a fist in the face, and while some who fell by the wayside sometimes a truck picked them up but some were not seen again. Some blokes took off boots, could not get them back on, big open sores, etc. Sometimes if a bloke straggled behind the main group he would be kicked to keep up. But this only served to add to his misery and if there was no truck handy and he got too far behind, one of the guards would turn round and to boo's and cat call's shoot him. We were too tired to care any more, and the thought crossed my mind "well it's quick", and that smell perstisted.

When we arrived at Canea we were locked up in rooms in a building. I was with about twenty others and looking through the window, I could see the sea. The room looked like a work place but my attention was drawn to a chest of drawers beneath the window. I pulled open one of the two top drawers to find it full of old hand guns. There was what looked like a double barrel Derringer, a flintlock, lots of bits and pieces of guns. When I stared at these somebody said "for christ sake shut the bloody drawer before the guard comes". They could have used this exuse to shoot us, who knows they must have known about the drawer, or did they? We will never know.

Others were locked in other rooms and when on the march we looked to be a thousand strong or more. Also filthy and pathetic. One thing that stood out during that long week's march was that no matter where you were the smell of death was everywhere. Some body got bit by a snake one rest period, he died.

When I was a lad I can't ever remember passing out or feeling faint but since Crete funny things were happening. One day I was looking at a tall tree and as my eye got half way up the trunk the pattern changed as I looked up at where the branches should have been. A giraffe was looking down at me, Iooked down and the roots of the tree were firmly in the ground but when I looked up again there was the giraffe chewing away. I was taken to another medical place because sometimes I was seeing double like a t/v with bad ghosting. By the way there are no loose giraffes on Crete. We were put on Greek boats under heavy guard and discussed with another bloke the possibility of leaving the boat before it got to Greece. The coversation suddenly changed to sharks and possible prop damage and the chance of being shot in the water. I lost interest and consoled myself with the fact "there is always tomorrow", and a tour of Germany would not come amiss.

We arrived in Greece and the camp, what had once been an army barracks was now a pow camp. Kriegsgefangener Lager Salonika. The vermin in this camp had to be seen to be believed. They all had the same capbadge, skull and cross bones. They were the SS pow guards. These animals were recruited from doss houses, brothels, black marketeers, I could go on but I think you get my drift. Then there were the permanant residents rats, bed bugs, lice, and a lot you could not see in the dark. I sometimes think about that officer on the beach "I give you my word as a German officer". That promise ended when we stepped into Salonika camp.

Most of the time we laid around discussing how to get out, but with an empty belly even this was half hearted. Then one day an ox pulling a cart loaded with bread came into the camp and jerry rounded up some of us to form a chain from the cart to a building up some steps where the bread was to be stored. Immediatly conversation turned to lock picking and were there any ex circus bods who could imitate flies, to whit, walk up walls and get through cracked windows. We handed the read from the cart to the building and we got a rhythm going but now and again as the pace picked up odd loaves would fall under the cart so I got under the cart and passed out these loaves.

Now this cart was a very old world cart in that it had what at first glance looked like a tree trunk running from the back to the front of the cart and between the floor of the cart and the trunk was a gap. Making sure the guard was'nt looking I tucked myself into this gap, ten minutes later I was out of the camp. The cart was about a hundred yards from the gate when the guard on the gate spotted my coat dragging on the ground. "Halt" then a thudding of feet. The guard bent and peered under at me and crooked his finger "come rous Tommy". He didn't know my name but Jerry calls all Brits Tommy.

I came out and he assisted me back to the gate. I could tell he was'nt very happy because when we got to the gate he kicked me in the back and I was hurled into a group of our blokes who had gathered to see what was happening. Somebody pushed my head down and said "quick get to the back of the crowd and take that coat off". This I did just as a SS officer came running up waving a pistol shouting to the guard "Where is that man"? Then I really enjoyed the guard's discomfort as the officer stomped up and down screaming at him. There were quite a lot of words so I don't think "dumkopf" would cover it. One day I joined a group blokes, well I did'nt sign anything but they were going into this drain so I decided I would also nick off with them. We got down into this hole which turned into a concrete pipe about thirty inches across, wide enough to crawl down but one coudn't turn round in it. We got so far along it when all movement stopped. There were cries of "move it, what's the hold up" and God knows how many were down that hole. It was stifling hot and smelly there was refuse on the bottom and sides of the tube, slime everywhere and it crossed my mind even in a situation like this blokes can make fun of a situation that could suddenly become very dangerous. The air was so foul and if Jerry decided to fire down the pipe he did not have to aim. Ricocheting bullets would do terrible damage, also if anybody was hit Jerry would probably not bother to get them out, just leave them in the pipe to die.

Then some body passed the word back we can't go any further there is a blockage. Someone else said "keep your voices down, Jerry will hear us". So we began iching our way backwards and as we were getting out of the hole we were spotted. Four of us were first bundled into a small compound of wire and the next day the sun seemed to be extra hot all that long long day. No water, no food, and we were covered in slime from the sewer the smell was so bad the only consolation I got was the guard had to move from his shady place every time the wind shifted. I cannot remember how long they kept us there but I found myself alone in a black dark room, there was just a grey thread of light under the door. Some times it would brighten then I would hear footsteps. I don't know how long I was in this room, it seemed a very long time, then the light under the door got bright and footsteps came but went by and I heard a door being unlocked. Then more footsteps a door banged shut, the light under the door dimmed and I was left in the quiet dark again. I must have dozed because all of a sudden there was a noise like a fight going on voices were raised now and then a thud, a moan, then quiet. Then it would start all over again. This went on for a long time.

Then it was very quiet for a long time mabye half a day, I didn't know if it was night or day. In fact I was now spending most of my time walking along this wall made of glass blocks. It reached to the sky in any case you could not climb it, there were no footholds and it was too slippery, I walked miles to find a door through it, but to no avail. So I would turn and walk miles in the opposite direction but could find no door. Then I would think I ought to be going the other way. The light under the door brightened and this brought me back to earth, footsteps, the key rattled, wrong key, try the next one in the lock and the door opened and I was half dragged to a room where a jerry was sitting behind a table.

I was asked things like "who was going to hide you"? To which I gave my name rank and number. "Where were you going? Who organised the attempted escape"? and so on. I was told later while this was very brave and proper, it was also very stupid. People like the SS only react to this line by beating the daylights out of you. I also think it is a human quirk, also, this was a good chance to get their own back, because we wiped out the cream of their paratroopers on Crete. Four thousand killed or missing, two and a half thousand wounded, some times one wonders how do you go missing,? What I mean is one can understand a squaddie taking cover in a shell hole, and getting blown up by the next shell? or thinking stuff this for a game of soldiers I'm off. But when some some unhappy bloke is dangling from the end of a bit of string attached to a chute, he has no place to hide, and the answer is simple, most of the para's had grenades stuck in their boots, in their belts, and any other place that was handy.

Trouble was a lot of the grenades were being hit. There would be a puff of smoke, the unhappy Jerry would just dissapear. Then the now empty chute would drift in the breeze and gently fall to earth. Now HE is missing in action. Anyway one of these brave interrogaters had a two foot long piece of rubber pipe like bit cut off a washing machine drain hose, and would smash it against the back of the knee, elbow, across the face, any where were it would hurt most. If you fell down they tried kicking your head all round the room. Fortunatly by this time you are passed caring. If you passed out a cold bucket of water brought you round quick smart, only they did'nt throw it over you, that would wet the floor so they just stuck your head in the bucket and held it there, with your arms up behind your shoulders which they are doing their best to dislocate. You try to ride out the different moves they make but by this time you are past caring. But it was uncumfy because when your head is upside down the water runs up your nose, or in this case down. Ever try sneezing in a bucket of water? One bloke suggested to me later they used the rubber hose so as to leave no marks on their victims for the Red Cross to see, and I queeried, if so, then why did'nt they wear wellies and rubber gloves when endeavering to kick someone to death? Besides the Red Cross are not aware that you exsist until you are allowed to notify them.

I became aware of lots of itching and dry mouth. I hurt all over. When I moved clouds of bedbugs scurried over the floor. I dusted most of them off my clothes but in doing so I squashed a lot of them and boy did they stink. I was covered with so many bites I thought I had measles. My chest hurt when I moved but as I looked around I discovered I had company. There was a bloke lying on the floor and as I was, he also was surrounded by bed bugs, in fact he looked like an ant heap absolutely crawling with red ants. The floor looked like planking tongued and grooved, it looked like it had been a barrack room.

But at this time it was empty exept for this bloke and myself. I tried talking to him but his back was to me and I could hear him wheezing as he breathed. The floor was filthy, bits of paper lay around, a window was open because beneath the window on the floor was a small scattering of leaves. I must have dozed off because two blokes where carrying me in an overcoat and I opened my eyes. When I saw the beautiful blue sky with fleecy clouds I thought Jerry had done it and the next stop was heaven. I just hoped to get there before dark so I could pick out a pretty angel to kip with, well you don't want to wake up in the morning on a cloud next to Boris Karloff. Then I was aware of the two blokes carrying me. I asked about the other bloke on the floor, somebody said "He was dead when we found you. We thought you were too". "Mabye that's what Jerry thought"? I have wondered could he have died from loss of blood, there were an awful lot of bed bugs. Well its a thought.

We were eventually taken to a railyard in Salonica and loaded onto goods wagons. It will save a lot of time at this point if I ask you to look at the film Von Ryen's Express. Now the part where all the prisoners are loaded on and a guard sat on the roof of each wagon is just the same. Some blokes also dug through the floor but unlike in the film sadly they were killed. Because when they got through the hole in the floor and let go they bounced and the next axle caught them and so on until they were just a bundle of bloodied rags. Also we did not get to take over the train. We stopped at Belgrade and were given soup and a piece of bread. I was a bit suprised at its size about four thick slices. The the Jerry with the megaphone said don't eat it all at once there will be no further rations for this journey, the next food will be at our destination Luckenwald in Germany.

So we set off and the problem then arose where to hide the bread. If you went to sleep you could wake up with none. I gave it some thought and decided if I eat two slices now and don't go to sleep I can eat two slices tomorrow and go to sleep with nothing to worry about, the next day can look after itself. I happened to glance through the wire encrusted window and in the distance a big sign informed us we were passing ZAGREB. One of our lads complained he had tummy pains. "I have not been for four days" he said. As the afternoon wore on he suddenly piped up has any body got an empty tin they don't want, there were no offers. Suddenly in desparation he took off his socks and filled them and where before he had been hemmed in now he had plenty of room. Some one grabbed the sock that was allready filled and as he moved to throw it out of the window. Someone suggested if we had a cricketer among us perhaps he could throw it instead and give it a bit of spin and with a bit of luck assisted by the wind he could stump the guard who was perched atop the next wagon. Somebody guffawd " then there'll be two sacks o' shit sittin' o'nt next wagon. The timid among us complained "what happens when we stop". Someone quietly said "if he's stoopid enough ta cum in ere on is own e'll ave a nasty accident."

The frivolity ceased. We now had a hate all Germans complex. We also came to hate body lice, friction sores because of travelling in swaying wagons, and my dirty clothes, everybody had dirty clothes. I won't dwell on this too much, you can watch videos today that will fill you in much better on this subject.

Eventualy the train did stop and this time we got out. I would like to just mention that sometimes when it had stopped before at times, it was because it had to be side tracked to let a military train or goods go by. And then sometimes we would be sitting there for hours. It was hot and smelly. However we arrived at this POW camp and found it to be full of French pow's. Almost straight away somebody yelled line up and we were marched past a French bloke who had a ladle and he was dishing out soup and a slice of bread to each man. I have never ever tasted soup like it. The French certainly know how to tickle the taste buds. But I think when you are really hungry a raw potatoe tastes like ice cream.

So this was LUCKENWALD camp. A lot went on in that camp we got to wash our clothes and have a shower and I remember there was a guard in the room with us, and some body said if he makes a move for the door we go out with him, don't let him lock us in. We had heard rumours of some people being gassed, we also had a photo and finger tips and thumb prints taken. This was stuck to a type written sheet where there was the name rank and number of each individual.

The next day we were issued with a slice of bread and a teaspoon of sugar, also a piece of cheese the size of four sugar lumps. This cheese was like a cake of chalk covered with a solution that looked and smelled like the glue we used to mend byke punctures with back home. Also each man was issued with a voucher for soup. It was about the same size as a bingo ticket but it was devided into days of the week inc sunday by perforations, so there was mononag, deinstag, mittwock, donnerstag, fritag,sunarbend, suntag. and the last square had the date on it. So if you lost your ticket it was good bye grub. Usually if you were genuine the other blokes would give a spoonfull each to make up the lost ration, but it did not happen very often believe me.

The next day was the same exept instead of the teaspoon of sugar we got a teaspoon of marmalade, and so on. One day there was a buz going round and sure enough we got red cross cards to fill in to send home, Name rank number and now another number POW 12244. Some body then made a comforting remark "Well that's good, now when some body gets shot, the red cross can inform the next of kin".

Then we were issued with what looked like kippers. Some body remarked "cor don't they remind you of some body". Another voice said "yea,yew,yew smell loik shit, go an ave a wash, mucky b******." I had blacked out a couple of times in the rail wagon and one day when I fell flat on my face on roll call parade. I was taken to the camp hospital where the German doctor fumed, why had I not been treated before this. I was treated for two damaged and one broken rib, a bone in the neck was chipped, I had plueresy due to lung lining damage, and some times not very often I would see double. I also had a broken jaw. The doc suggested when I was hit on the head on Crete my head was whipped round so quick it dislocated my jaw, then when I fell that's what broke it. I can't remember how long I was in that place, but it was not unpleasant.

Then they brought in one of our blokes, he was bomb happy, the silly grin, vacant eyes, had trouble just walking, had to be fed, and led, and watched or he would wander. If he wandered too close to the wire he could get shot. The Jerry orderly (male nurse) fussed over him got him a comic book to look at. Also went to a lot of trouble finding a music box with a little ballerina twisting and bouncing to the tinkle tinkle of the tune. This German orderly dressed in white with an armband denoting he was a medic, would feed him and look after his other needs. He wound up the music box one day and put it by his bed, a bit later he went to wind it up again but instead he pulled up the sheet over the blokes face, as he walked by his eyes were wet. Well, I thought, they are not all monsters.

Then one day a group of us were taken to the railway station and we boarded a train. We had to stand in the isle. The train was full and to my left sitting were a group of Hitler youth, about six of them. As I glanced toward them the nearest youth maybe seventeen years old stared at me then said something. Because he now had the attention of his mates, still staring, he mimed picking bugs off his shirt, dropping them on the floor then grinding his boot on then, they all had a laugh at this. I kept my gaze fixed on him and he finaly looked away. When he did look back again as I guessed he would, I still was looking at him. He finally went pink in the face and looked uncomfortable, I left it at that and turned my back to them for the rest of the journey. Don't push it I thought.

We got off that train and waited in the lee of the station house wall because there was a biting cold wind blowing. One of the blokes had got a fag from somebody but he had no way of lighting it, near us was a German civvy, he looked like an office walla. So our bloke strolls over and asks "Haben sie fire, (he didn't know how to pronounce feuer) bitte"? (light please) The bloke scowled back and our bloke said "remind me never to come here for a holiday. Miserable B******” Anyway we got on the train without further ado and when we got off the guard said now we march to the camp. So we did. Somebody said lets show these b******* how to march, and we did. All the way to the camp, I think we could have given the grenadier guards a run for their money.

Anyway the guard had a smile on his face as we marched into camp halted, right turned, and stood at ease. This was Stalag 303 near the village of Teltow. The camp commandant's name was Herr Montag, would stand no nonsense but he was a decent enough bloke. His view on life was the war cannot last forever, so if we have mutual respect there would be every chance of us getting home safe at the end of it. If you imagine this PC screen as a map of the camp then it would be surrounded by a double barbed wire fence. The only exit-entry gate was at top left. The recreation hall and cookhouse complex was accross the top, now another double fence ran center screen across. There was a gate in this fence just left of center. The bottom half of the screen contained all six wooden huts, four were filled with pows, one was used as the camp hospital, and one was used as a canteen come library but as yet there were no books and nothing in the canteen. From the middle wire to the cookhouse there was a veg patch, and to the right of that was a concrete swimming pool. Well actually it was there in case of fire, but as I said before Herr Montag was a decent bloke, and he let us swim in it on sundays when it was hot weather. From the middle wire to the gate was the guards barracks, so there was always a sentry at the main gate with a guard house backup, there was a sentry on the middle gate only at night. About 200yrds across the road and some tall grass was a railway shunting yard, about half a mile further and we could see the village. So if you walked from the railway on the main road you took the first left and you came to our camp, but if you were to carry on up this lane another 500yrds you would arrive at a political prisoners camp.

Now and again almost every day we became aware of bodies being brought out and dumped in a large hole in the ground. One sunday, we did not work on sunday, I heard "ayeup what goin' on over there then". At the opposite side of the camp to the railway as a slight hill its top could be seen over the roofs of our buildings, and running like mad was this scarecrow of a man. He had escaped from the political camp. His mad dash soon became a stumbling shamble as the incline of the hill took its toll on his under nourished body. We were soon all at the wire shouting" run you can do it”. Soon it was obvious he wasn't going to make it because he fell down and it wasn't long before the guards reached him. We stood and watched unbeleaving as they slowly beat him to death. We knew he was dead because when the guard left they left the body lying there. About half an hour later two blokes in vertical black and white striped jarmers came with a sentry picked up the body and took it back to the pit and tipped it in then with a shovel threw lime over it.

We found out later that when some body died his mates would say he was sick so they could collect and share his rations. In winter they were lucky but in summer they could not get away with it for so long, and if the wind was blowing our way we also knew.

Get down into the shelters and as we Iooked out past the guard we could see the searchlights sweeping around looking for a target. They picked up a plane high up and all hell let loose. Soon I heard zip thud and more hissing and thuds until suddenly I realised it was shrapnel coming down all over the place. The guard also woke up and we all dived under cover. Some body said make room for the gaurd, somebody else said "stuff im 'e's got a tin 'at on we ave'nt". Then there was this one big explosion, we thought it was so close the cook house was gone. But next morning we learned it had mown down a huge circle of grass and pieces of shrapnel had sythed through the hospital and it killed one of our blokes in his sick bed. But the rail shunting yard was a mess, here were rail lines pointing at the sky, one still had wooden sleepers hanging off it. Buildings had been blown away, and part of a signal arm was found at the other side of our camp.

It was mid winter so the powers that be decided it would a good time to dredge a stream under a bridge. So we got on the train for a few miles, got off and walked to where this bridge was. A jerry civvy came and unlocked a wooden hut and issued us with rubber thigh boots, then a long handeled bull nosed shovel and explained that he wanted us to go into this water. "How do we go into the water some one asked?" Same way as you got here dummy, put one leg in front of the other and if you are as stupid as you look you'll fall over”. "But there's thick ice on the water" complained the winger. After about an hour of pantomime we still did'nt under stand "nix fershtehen, nix compri". The guard put a round up the spout and pointed his rifle at us and suddenly it all became very clear.

So with out more ado we broke the ice and entered the water. One thing I learned very quickly was don't touch any metal with your bare hands, if you did, you're skin immediately stuck to it. It was freezing, so if you complained of the cold and tried to get out the guard would push with his rifle so you had to stay in. I discovered by working faster you could raise body heat so the blood to my feet was that little bit warmer plus I had wrapped my feet in rags, this worked in my favour. Some of the lads who had only the rubber boots on got frost bite and lost toes. One bloke lost his foot on one leg and all his toes on the other. We sent a deputation to the camp commandant and the guard was transferred to another camp. I think what swung it was a lady who lived nearby the bridge saw our plight and made some hot erzats coffee but when she brought it out to us the guard said "no" and "go away." So maybe she rang up and protested. Any way the commandant informed us that job could be resumed come summer when the weather would be warmer.

The food and soup was usually served round about six when all work parties got in. The camp interpretor who was also a pow told us that there would be cakes in the canteen also drinks, starting next week. There were loud hooraas and roll on next week.

When next week arrived there was a queue a mile long out side the canteen. Then we found out the drink was a rough apple cider, sour to taste and gave some blokes belly pains. The cakes turned out to be cakes of soap, it was like candle wax mixed with sand, but it worked, after a fashion. We found out the soap was being made at a political camp so we refused to use it. Eventualy all the boxes of soap began to over flow in the canteen so Herr Montag had them all taken away. We never got another issue of that particular soap again in that camp.

A notice was put up one day informing us that since we had been such good boys the camp commandant had arranged with one of the local village elders to put on a film show for us. "Oh goody, I hope its Betty Grable" and other such comments. So sunday afternoon we were all assembled in the recreation hall and waited and waited and waited. Finally the camp commandant came in and said "sorry gentlemen I got the wrong sunday, 'it's next week". So next week we were there again and we were told the bloke with the film had a bad cold, so a lot of Betty Grable fans trundled back to their barracks. Remarks like "jees i'm really pissed off”, and "I giv this bloke two fags for 'is seat at the back, I was goin'to cuddle me cushion. Then we did get to see a film, but it was a dreary comedy in German so nobody could understand it. But we pretended we enjoyed it because after all the camp commandant did'nt have to go out of his way for us.

I got into a conversation with another bloke because he was a Geordie and my gran was a Geordie. He told me that every body in Salonika camp stopped all escape attempts after our attempt because some blokes before me had got out and Jerry said that for each pow that got out they would collect 10 Greeks at random off the streets and shoot them. While I had been in that dark room they had already done that. One was an old man and a woman with a twelve year old boy.

The next job three of us got was to walk to the village with a guard and he went to a shed at the back of this pub next to the rail station. He came back with a saw and some rope and pointed to a tree that had a branch which looked like it was going to grow straight through one of the bedroom windows of the pub, so I got up the tree, tied the rope on then began to saw through the branch. The window slid open and out popped the head of a pretty blond girl, this was even better than the movies. She shouted down to the guard and he nodded and smiled and said "ya ya". I nearly fell out of the tree as she smiled at me sweetly withdrew her head and closed the window. Up to now all girls I'd known always said “no no”. With the branch cut and safely on the ground we had just got tidied up when the blond girl came out with what looked like four stubbies of beer. She put them on the table with another of those sweet smiles turned and disapeared back into the pub. The guard changed the points in my brain just then because he gave me a friendly nudge with his elbow and said "shone was pretty, yes". I agreed. The lable on the bottles informed us it was Kinderbrot beer.

After that things got a bit mundane, we did however get one or two lighter moments like when a guard came in to each room enquiring if there was anyone interested in rabbits. One answer he got was "We all are if they are in a pie". Another was "keep your rabbits, but could we have some dancing girls instead"? He looked at us a bit shocked and said "What would you do with dancing girls"? To which came the reply "cor, don't yore dad tell you nuffink"? and "there would'nt be a lot of dancin" or "we'd come up with something given time."

Some work parties would walk down a lane behind a small row of houses and passing one back garden we noticed a young woman doing some gardening. Now we all knew fratting with the enemy was a very and I do mean very dicy game. However this did not deter one young Irish hopeful. It all started with that pretty smile again, then it moved on to passing little notes. They did it like this, the guard always up front and us walking along in three ranks. The Irish bloke always made sure to be in the rank nearest the wall, and as we walked past the bottom of that particular garden, he waited till she was looking then threw the note into her garden. Since it had a stone wrapped in it it landed not too far away from her. There were a few reprimands from the other blokes when they saw what he was up to. "Bloody fool, you know she will shot with you if you are caught". But love is blind. Also bacause they were'nt Robert Taylor types, I think maybe it was a bit of sour grapes, envy, whatever.? Any way they refined their postal system until not even we could see well not without blinking any way. The love notes were written in German by who else but the pow camp interp and when Irish got an answer the interp would translate for him. By now Irish was madly in love and did'nt seem to care if he did got caught. Then after weeks and weeks of misery God switched the light on for him. I want to see the camp commandant he told the interp. "You ARE mad" said he, but Irish said ssssss in his ear.

They both went to the camp office and it was agreed that Irish escorted by a guard could go out into the woods to forage for rabbit food for the camp commandant's pet rabbits. Irish said he loved rabbits so much that he gave his word he would not attempt to escape. We all agreed certain rabbit habits were begining to rub off onto Irish. Then lady luck in the guise of The Red Cross stepped in. We got one parcel between two men, it was like xmas had come early, so now Irish had some ammo to further his cause. He told us that when he went to get rabbit food that sunday with the guard he took out of his pocket a bar of chocolate broke a bit off and watched the guard drool. So he gave him a bit, then the next sunday he gave him a whole bar of choc and told him "for your wife" but don't tell any body. The guard agreed. He was also hooked, now Irish let his girl friend know where he would be every sunday afternoon. So now every sunday afternoon the guard and Irish would go to the wood the guard would pocket a unopened tin of coffee worth about six months pay on the black market. He would sit quietly at the edge of the wood and wait for the return of the happy wanderer. Irish would go into the gloom of the wood for half hour or more and return flushed and happy with a bag full of rabbit food. I lost track of Irish after a while. The only sad thing I thought was Irish was wed and the girl's husband was in Russia, so it could not have a happy ending. Come to think of it Walt Disney's Snow White was a lot better.

I took some of the empty tins (ex red cross) and by joining them together made a boat. One of the guards said he had an old gramaphone I could have, if I would make a boat for his son. So I now had a motor for my boat, all the other boats I made had sails. Can you imagine a nice summer day sitting by a pool watching blokes racing each others model boats. The commandant and some of the guards got caught up in the spirit of the meet and I was complemented on my inginuity. I think the guards were bored, but now even they would join in. Soon, the enthusiasm of this sporty event was not lost on some of the punting fraternity, little cards were being erected round the pool declaring Big Fred's or Lucky Norm would give 4 to 1 on #5. For the 'hedification of them wot is higorent' in the realm of mechanics, I would like to point out that in a gramaphone motor of the 1920-30's, you wound a handle this wound up a very strong spring which was in a steel barrel. While winding clockwise you could compress the spring and if you stopped palls dropped into a toothed wheel and held the now gathered energy, also if you wound in the opposite direction the winding handle would disengage itself from the winding apparatus which was now being held by the palls. The energy escapes through a chain of gear wheels the last of which is the govenor. To control the speed of the gramaphone move a lever to adjust a leather pad that would act as a brake because as the govenor begins to turn when you set it going three balanced weights on springs move outwards due to centrefugal force, pulling up a brass disk, as soon as the brass disk makes contact with the leather pad it restricts the speed and keeps it constant. The turntable (the bit you put the record on) is usually the next gear to the spring, it was to this shaft I used to drive the prop on my boat. Sorry that bit may be a bit dull for some but it does help you understand what happens next. My boat was clockwork, the other boats were sail. While they could really move sometimes reach the other end of the pool, so if I set the rudder the boat would go there albeit slowly. Call it sour grapes if you wish but I thought it was pay back time for some of these punters who were giving some of the lads a hard time.

Come sunday and I told some of my mates I would remove the govenor from my boat and the boat would streak to the other end of the pool. Put all your fags on it, I gloated. Well, I think some of the other lads got wind of it, so lots of fags changed hands and there was a great air of excitement prevailed round the pool. Also I noticed there were a lot more blokes round the pond. Ready, get set, go, all the boats were away and I Iet go of mine, for a second the prop churned the water to a froth the boat lurched forward then as the prop got a grip of the water the reaction turned the boat on to its side and it sank. I thought, I,ll get it tomorrow. I never did. There was talk of "chuck him after his bloody boat.” But they soon drifted back to their huts muttering like a lot off discruntled ducks, thinking about lost fags.

There was an air raid one night, we got one about once a week, one where we actually had to take cover in the dugouts. The dugouts were like slit trenches lined with sheets of straight corrigated iron, another sheet fixed over the top and the whole thing filled over with sand. There was a hole in the middle and steps were cut into the sandy soil with bits of wood to stop them collapsing when it rained. One time I was amongst the first in and some times you could get a snapshot because jerry fired something called flaming onions, as they lit up the sky so you could have a quick gleg at your surroundings which before was black as ink. I found that with a little effort I could move the corner of the metal sheet and after a whispered confab pressed it back. When the all clear sounded and we got back to our beds there were exited whispering going on about how far was the wire to the air raid shelter and if a tunnel came up outside the wire which sentry box was nearest. So once all the relevent intelligence had been fed to the escape committe after about a month of pretending to be Sherlock Holmes, well you could'nt go up to one the Jerries, come to think of it that name fits, well most of them are sh lavetries anyway. You could not go to Jerry and say "er, exuse me Hans”. I could have called him Dick, but Hans sounds more German. “That grassy patch near #4 tower that reaches from the air raid shelter to the wire, we were thinking of putting in some potatoes and maybe some beans, could you tell us how long it is"?. I will not dwell on that because I can remember the long nights staying awake waiting for an air raid and thinking all Jerrys were Dicks anyway, or at least the female equivalent, then I thought about how the sand transported from the hole was pathetic. Having bent the metal just enough to scrape sand out we now had to use a peg to keep it back in it's original posision.

Jerry made good use of ferrits. These were usually somebody who had been wounded and had a working knowledge of another language. For a french camp the ferret would be a Jerry with a second language in French, our's had a second language in English and if we knew he was listening we would break into Indi or Arabic, some Welsh blokes used to taunt the hell out of him. Some times on the train you would get a lot of fun watching some of the smart looking civvies. If you were discussing something you could spot straight away if he was listening. "Oh I know where you mean" this was the signal to set the ball rolling. "I thought they pulled that place down" and if they were having a drink from a flask you waited to come out with the punch line, "Na they're building wings for spitfires now, sometimes they stopped in mid gulp and made a choking noise. "You'll be ok in a minute mate". Somebody would grin at him "just take a few deep brefs." Some just used cockney slang to good effect.

The people I had no time for and most were above the rank of private were the people who would make remarks like "well I've done my bit I can sit here till its over". I don't think I heard it ever from a regular soldier. My view was I was still a soldier and my pay would not stop until I was dead. My motto was stuff the Germans. It still is. And a lot of this bullshit 'forgive and forget' is not on in my book, they will try again one way or the other. If and when I got the chance to do some thing usefull, I did it.

For instance, on a work party near a rail siding, call to the guard with a bit of pantomime clutching your middle call out "pingle pause postern, toilet break, guard". He wave and shout "ja ja" and continue looking at a dirty book. Once round behind the wagons lift the lid on an axle box scoop most of the grease out fill it with sand and gravel whack as much grease in to hide it wipe hands on grass and emerge ajusting your clothing, then get as far away from that spot as you could. I must have done this a total of thirty to forty times over about eight months, others did it too. I was'nt alone. I would have been if I'd been caught. But when young etc. By the way all German rail engines had Rader mussen rollen fur den Sieg (wheels must roll for victory) painted on the side of the tender (that's the bit immediatley behind the engine with coal in it). Well some of these wheels were due for a rest. The stub end of an axle on a goods wagon goes into the axle box and it turns round inside two white metal castings to make these castings requires just a little more heat than is used to melt lead, so the wagon would not get far before the sand would cause friction and friction creats heat. So the metal melts and leaks out of the axle box. When this happens the waggon starts to bounce. Two things can happen, the coupling can snap, that means the train is cut in two and if on an incline it can stop then roll the other way. If another train is coming he can't get out of the way in time. The other thing to happen was the wagon would jump the rails and it would drag all the following rolling stock with it. Half of a white metal casting was half brick in size. Two put together made a bearing.

Another work party worked for Lenz & Weber Baugeselshaft. On this party I was the interpreter The old gaffer had been in the first world war as had his head bricky, the bricky proudly opened his jacket to show the label made in Manchester England. "Ja I vos in England erst war pow, cald vet, (cold, wet,). The gaffer and I got on well together he would rant on and I would nod or shake my head. Somebody took pity on him one day, he was filling this old pipe with dried daisy heads and this bloke, one of our bods who also had a pipe, pulled out a tin of Digger Flake and took the pipe off the old bloke. He reamed out the daisy heads and stuffed it full of Digger Flake and handed it back, the old boy lit up inhaled and "shizer, opium"? He gasped, then he had to sit down because it made him giddy. The old boy always called me Freiderich. All day I had to guess what he wanted when he spoke, actually body language helped mostly. I think some of the lads knew as much German as me but I was dumb enough to think I was smarter than them. Or they were smart enough not to get involved. We built, or rather the Jerry old blokes were building a complex, it looked like a small house. Next to it was a huge square hole where it turned out a twenty foot square of concrete was poured, now because of the small workforce this block had to be started and added to each day. This gave us a golden opportunity to chuck in any tools that were laying around. The gaurd started searching each of us at the end of work time when we fell in to go home. We stopped doing this particular practice when we found the old bloke was getting a rough time from his boss, plus it really did not effect the war effort any way.

Then we found out what the concrete was for. It was the foundation for a crane which would load loco's with coal from a bunker. So it was on again, little old ladies were not going to live in this house and sit watching trains go by, it was the control cabin for this complex which would water and coal engines on the railway. So somebody sneaked a look at the plans table in the hut held down by a brick so the wind did'nt blow them away. So we had a heads together sssss, yea and lets ssss, na, too risky.

Well one day it was presented to us like the proverbial xmas turkey. Measuring took place, sticks were hammered into the ground, this bloke came out with a spyglass on a tripod and when he got it set up and looked though it, two of our blokes got in front of it put their arms round each other and pretended to be two shy girls fluttering their eyes at the camera. The old gaffer laughed the bloke with the apparatus had no sense of humour. The guard just scowled. Anyway string was finally attached to the sticks so if you can imagine a twenty foot slab of concrete in the ground and about three yards away from it and going all the way round it were two lines of string. So at the corners where they crossed each other they formed a square about three foot square.

So while the locals were in the cabin at midday busy scoffing, they had this funny way of eating well, call it delivery. We usually pick up a sandwich, bite a bit off and chew, maybe because their head is shaped different to ours (square) they eat thus. Pull out pocket knife, open blade wipe on trouser leg, pick up sandwich, with the knife firmly gripped only by the fingers open the hand so that the thumb can be placed at the back of the sandwich, now draw the blade toward the thumb, cutting off a portion of the sandwich'. Then with this bit of sitting on the blade it is transported to the mouth. Remarks like “I hope he cuts his f****** tongue off” were whispered, and "If they had cut something else off after the last war we would not be sitting here now”. You tell them Stanley, I certainly will Olly. So we moved the string, nothing haphazard, we got a bit of stick and moved each string six inches further out. From then on we pondered what we had done, till someone came up with the magnificent idea. On the train some times would be French blokes who worked all over the place. They did not have guards, maybe they were pro german, who cares, but what mattered was we could scrounge off them or barter Frog ciggies. They were shocking to smoke. Anyway the idea was cut them into short stubs which were lit then put out. If suddenly you were searched these were ignored but when the time came we put some of these round the building site. The French Underground movement had struck again. The name of those ciggies by the way was SWEET CAPAREL, in a blue packet and packaged just like American camel cigs. By the way if you knew why they had that particular brand name you would cease smoking forthwith. Come to think of it, the Frog cigs used to rip your throat out as well. Russian cigs, dried pig crap ground up and mixed with red pepper to hide the aroma. Only trouble with those, if you forgot to pinch the tube in two or three places you would'nt have to wait for lung cancer, you could quite easily choke to death on the spot.

The effort we had put into this particuler project bore fruit, boy did it ever. On the top of the concrete block another was made and on top of this they would mount a crane. Now the brickies set to and at each corner of the concrete about three feet away(plus six inches), were four footings of concrete where they built up four columbs. When these were finished a steel girder was to be fitted to the main concrete and rest on these pillows. Well said the boss with a puzzled look "I do'nt under stand how they could be so stupid to make these girders short." That afternoon was like going to see the three stooges. The people who had supplied the steel were there, the bloke who had drawn the plans was there, the gestapo were there. They glared at us, and they wanted a stooge because we were handy, but the old man woud'nt have any of it.

It was obvious he stuck up for us which was just as well, because a lot of sabotage was going on in our area and they could not find somebody to shoot. Well to cut a long story, one Jerry a bit brighter than the others pulled out a big leather bound tape measure had a quick squiz at the drawing and went round all the columns then started sceaming at the old man, I felt lousy. One of the gestapo glared at one of our blokes as he pushed passed him. He had plenty of room but it was obvious to us he wanted blood and he made a point of pushing him out of the way. We had had this kind of treatment before and there was no way one of us was going to fall for it, it fizzled out. To get round the discrepancy for which we were to blame, Jerry dug out one side of each column, got some big wooden levers, and ho heaved the columns to a new position. So the iron girders would now fit, then put the earth back behind the columbs and stomped it in with his foot. Somebody remarked "that's what is known as Jerry building".

About a quarter of a mile away was a factory and you would not beleive the security, towers, patrols, dogs. We were intrested in this factory because it was Daimler Benz. Because of the security, we decided they could carry on making what ever they wished.

Then one day a train went roaring past and some body shouted look at that, smoke was streaming from one wagon. Later that after noon I asked the guard "pingle pause", "ja ja", so as I walked over the line I picked up tear drops of white metal, and put them in my pocket. These I saved till I had enough to make useful things like spoons, cap badges, keys etc. To melt the metal I made a small blower. This was made from a dried milk tin and indeed was a blacksmith's forge in miniature. I could boil a dixie of water to make tea in a matter of mins. Cries of make me one, make me one. Soon the ablution block would have smoke pouring out of the windows and any one going in for wash or to shave would come out coughing and wiping eyes.

The first time we lit up Jerry came running he thought the place was on fire. We politely told him to "f*** off "we were making morning tea. There was a sergeant from a Welsh regiment, he resided across the passage with nine other bods. He got permission from the camp commandant to go up into the rec hall when every body got in from work and had had their nourishing soup. I must tell you about the soup here cos if I do'nt, I may forget.

It's no big deal but it gives you a clue how like an animal one can get to be once there is adversity. Each room had a dixie, the dixie is an oval shaped container on which there is a clamped lid. It had a handle to carry it with. It was big enough to hold soup for twenty people, so,since we were ten men to a room, the dixie would be half filled. So when the whistle blew to let us know it was trough time, you could if you wer'nt a dancer get knocked off your feet. The camp town races or dixie rush take your pick. Somebody leaning against his bed drawled "you'd thing Betty Grable was on the front lawn doing a strip the way some of these blokes carry on, well I mean what must Jerry think"? At first it was like that, then it got sneaky. It started with this cockny bloke, Thompson, he was always laid on his bunk reading a book. He had thick glasses, he was a dodger, (bludger) what I mean is everbody either washed windows when nec or swept the floor, he did nothing. I do'nt know where or how he got them but he seemed to have an unending supply of apples and when it was quiet all one would hear was suddenly waaaaaaark. If you were quick enough you would see him lowering his leg, scrruncch chomp -chmp-chomp chomp. I don't know if he enjoyed eating apples all day or if he was just trying to get the room to himself by filling it with foul gas with the hope of driving every one else to seek residence elswhere. Then one day we found out it could talk, "you blokes need a farver figur" he said looking round the room, and his eyes looked like two big gold fish bowls full of mucky water. “I bin thinkin, that soup, corse I ain't volenteerin tu fetch it, but if some body used their loaf us cud be be-er off than we are, nawa'meen. Na eres wat yu do, yer bloke wi dixie waits till there's a queue then he gets in line wi rest on em, savvy, cos them big vats is full o' soup and them idle buggers don't stir em tu much. Well, ah mean it only common sence if yer think abaht it, first there gets water offen the top. In the middle it gets thicker, but like ah sed use yer loaf an ger all that thick stuff off 'n bottom”. Some looked at each other and slowly nodded at this brilliant strategy. Somebody said quietly, "how sick do you have to be to get repatriated"?

But the greedy prevailed and this plan was implemented. The first time it worked and would you believe it, this Thompson put half of his stew into another tin topped up both tins with hot water then tried to flog off one for cigs. We ganged up on him and he moved to another hut where he continued with his greedy habits. Trouble was the whole thing back fired on every body who tried this tactic. You see it was not long before word got round so that now when the whistle blew chow time every body was hanging back. Well eventually the commandant saw what was happening and nipped it in the bud straight away. Without warning one day the whistle blew and every body hung back and we knew after twenty minutes the gate would be shut, so they started to drift up to collect the soup. About fifteen dixies were half filled, hat was the correct amount for each room but the last five dixie carriers where informed "sorry there is not enough soup left. You can have a bit of bread instead."

On the following Sunday the camp was searched, then there was a roll call, then the camp commandant addressed the assembly "I am dissapointed with you men, normally, I would begin a meeting with gentlemen, but today I cannot because you do'nt act like gentlemen. I will not tollerate this kind of behaviour. I am aware that some of you did not participate in this venture, but in Germany because you did not stop it, you are equally guilty. I will address you as gentlemen when you have earned the right to that title. Dismiss”. He had made his point and the atmosphere in the camp now was begining to be opppressive. "Any body coming for a swim"? "Piss off and drown yerself why do'nt yer". "Well I only asked, you don't have to get your knickers in a twist" and other such niceties were bandied round the room. And "Where's that book I lent you Chalky"? "Oi aint got yer soddin book, oi puts it on yer soddin flea pit din oi" an if yer can't look arter yer soddin gear don't epect me to, sod off". I wondered if in peace time perchance he was a gardener. Maybe not, the flowers would wilt, well it is said they do respond to music.

Getting back to the Welsh sergeant, he wanted to start a Welsh choir, and as I said before he had got the ok to use the recreation hall. So he gets all these budding Bing Crosby type's and you should have heard the noise that suddenly erupted from the rec hall. One bright bod remarked "ow can you ave a bleed'n Welsh choir wiv on'y one bleedin' Welsh man in it”. Most of the Jerry guards were on their way to the shelters when they realised it was not an air raid, perhaps somebody was being interviewed by the gestapo in the rec hall? Anyway they practiced, and as it turned out one of the better of the tunes was "Bread of heaven, feed me till I want no more" to which a visiting padre remarked, "my goodness they really do sing that rather well don't you think"? Someone muttered "We'd sing it to Jerry if we thought it would do any good".

One day a group was selected, this was achieved by the Jerry camp gefrieter (corporal) morning roll call would be over and before we dismissed this corporal would ask if any body was familiar with building. "Yea, ah got a tent in me bed every mornin" and "we got a tunnel goin aht of ere" This banter was lost on the guard who looked and probably was bored to the long hairs that stuck out of his nose and ears. "That's it, he's deaf," somebody volenteered, "he aught to be in Madam Tussauds". "Why? 'e aint good lookin". "No but they could use the wax". "And ere cum de mummy". "Who said Boris Karloff was dead"? "He is, they just stuck im in a Jerry uniform and wound im up, soon as e winds down i'm gorn”. "Come on you's blokes leave him alone he can't help it”. "No, but the commandant can, he aught to bury him".

Finally he would collect about seven of us and we were told to parade in half an hour outside the guard room. This was always like mum taking you for a walk round the park, you know, you can tip up seats, throw stones at somebodies dog. It goes beserk trying to get at you, and when the owner of said poodle chuck's you a reprimand you return with Churchill's victory sign, but with the back of the hand facing the target, and with a slight up and down movement it means 'up yours'. If there is a bloke painting the fence you kick the tin of paint over and you are dead safe if you smile at him and say "sorry." You know the feeling "nil desperandum" and "never have sex on a saw table”, you might accidently catch the on off switch. And if it's a new acuaintance you could catch something else which in time will invariably result in the same thing, your voice which hitherto was baritone or bass will suddenly change to suprano and squeeky. Wet cement also used to draw us like a magnet, signatures would appear as if by magic, once our little group had passed. Things like Dik Ed wos ere 1940. and Up Yours Adolf. My favourite was, “Give it up you can't win”. Depends on who's reading it and to what you are referring. Sometimes a free French cross would appear during the night and someone would mutter as we passed "Vive la France". Then a bit later on you'd notice some one had re surfaced it, so we would line up and all ten of us would march across it.

Well we sauntered up to the guard room and sat on the grass, five minutes later this ghost about six foot tall comes out, actualy he looked taller because he was slim built, a better word would be gaunt. He was also very pale, and some one whispered "ere, he's ain't 'ere for long". He came out of the guard room rifle slung over his shoulder and what looked like railway warrants which he was stuffing into his tunic. "Aufstehen" he said looking round at us (stand up) we fell in, in three ranks, and just as quietly "rech's rum, we turned to the right, commando marsh". We marched out of the gate to the railway station got on the train and travelled about ten miles got off and walked half a mile down a lane and came to a field. Then a civvy in a truck that had a what looked like a steam boiler on one side arrived with tools. As soon as he stopped he opened the top of this boiler thing and stuffed a load of wood chips into it, wriggled a little lever at the bottom and a load of ash fell out, so the truck engine ran on this gas that came from the wood cooking in the top bit.

We did not have every thing our own way. If Jerry felt like it he could single out some body on one pretext or another, stick them against the wall and shoot them. In 1940 Jerry was top dog and he knew it and if you got a camp commandant who was a b*****as well as a nazi look out or better still keep your mouth shut and keep out of his way. The most dangerous times were just after an air raid. Sometimes the commandant would parade us when we would get a surprise visit from the gestapo, whispered questions would fly, the gestapo would walk down our ranks with a card in his hand and when he finally left it turned out they were looking for a French saboteur. Sometimes they hid in any camp they could get into. The only flaw from our point of view was if somebody matched the picture and the gestapo were in a bad mood they would'nt bother looking for somebody else, and we got another chore, burial detail. And it would be sunday so's not to interfere with work quota.

On monday we again went to this field down a lane, again this truck turned up. The civvy was a friendly sort of bloke and handing out a pair of shears to me and indicated he would like me to go round the field trimming all the hedges. “Today?" “Nien, nien, nein wocke wieliecht" and he chuckled (no no mabye a week). The others got tools like a sythe, a rake, some a ball of string to tie up all the clipped branches. We lost our selves in our work, it was a nice day and I got back ache. I lay on the grass hoping to relieve it the bloke came over and had a smile on his face, "Immer langsam"don't work so hard. The others were engrossed in their work. One was reaping and you could see he was not used to using a sythe, another was following him raking up the clover and hay. "Mind you don't cut your foot off". To which our whistful mate replied, "I should be that lucky". "You won't find too many angels in this lot, but the'yre not a bad crowd."

Then the guard got a name, one of our blokes yelled "ayup, where's Lofty?” We all looked round. Somebody said "well I'll be buggered there he is", and about quarter of a mile away sure enough was the guard carrying his dixie coming toward us. Behind him about half a mile away was a factory and factories have canteens and Lofty had gone all that way to get stew. Then we got another surprise the bloke digs out some old cracked small plates and bent spoons told us to sit. Lofty put the dixie on the grass and motioned with his hand to get stuck in, we did. When one of our blokes asked Lofty if he was having some, he gave us to understand he'd had a good lunch at the factory. We also found out he had been wounded two or three times, and had been in hospital a long time. He showed us a photo of his wife and two kids, he was proud of them.

One day as we came off the station we had to wait because Lofty was having an argument with the ticket collector. We had got through the barrier and were mabye some fifty yards away and we waited. At another gate were three Jerry civvy cops and one was demanding people to show their identidy cards "auswise cart bitte". Now we had with us a bloke called Smith and unfortunately he had this malady. He thought he was a tape recorder. Just as unfortunately having just recorded the cop he decided to replay it "auswice cart bitte" he squarked like a parrot. The cop nearest to him heard him and came charging over pulling out a pistol. This cop would perhaps be fifty years old greying hair, beer gut, about five eight or nine, and appeared to be in charge of the group. Now he was purple with rage and grabbing one of Smith's arms and twisting upwards he rammed the gun behind Smith's head where it joins the neck and screaming in German, it looked like he was trying to break the arm. Everybody, including civvy passengers stopped and waited for the bang. The ticket collector and Lofty turned to see what was happening and immediately Lofty came running. Lofty shouted to the cop who took no notice and as Smith involuntarily bent forward to puke, the pistol at the back of his head followed him down. At this point Lofty suddenly whipped the rifle off his shoulder and with a quick movement of the hand put one up the spout then stuck the muzzle in the cop's ear and quietly said "weg traiten". "Yetz" (walk away, now,) for about thirty seconds nobody moved then Lofty made a jabbing movement in the cop's ear with his gun muzzle and the cop suddenly got the message because now he had ear ache, well a bruised ear. In the back ground a train was hissing steam off, then the cop let go of Smith's arm and grabbed his ear and began to rub it. Smith had the common sense to stay still. The cop turned to Lofty still with the pistol in his hand. Lofty said something all the while keeping his rifle in the cop's face. The cop put the pistol in its holster then Lofty gave him a barrage of words among which were something to do with fighting at the front. The cop went bright red and seething with anger turning on his heel went over to his mates still massaging his ear and proceeded to give them a hard time, maybe because they did'nt back him up or mabye trying to save face. Only when the civvy cops were out of sight did Lofty put the safety catch on and put the rifle back on his shoulder. Then he wagged a finger at us and said "pass auf" (watch out). We suddenly slacked off with the mick taking, in so far as civvy cops were concerned. We did however sometime later resume our favourite pastime as we got bored. Like the time we were having a discussion on the railway platform, "Gentleman Jim never wore gloves. cam orf it" and “you should have seen that darkey bloke, cor e' could punch”. "Looks like some body's havin a punch up over yonder". “Where"? "That bird wiv a purple blouse, cor don't get too close she'll poke your eye out, looks like two little boys under a blanket havin a fight".

We got another issue of red cross parcels, one between two again, now after being on just enough food to do a certain amount of work, this extra food was not only better tasting but it caused, how does one say, well funny 'as in strange things began to happen. The first night about midnight there was this long rasping noise. Ten minutes went by and it sounded like a long, long, sigh with a full stop at the end. Then there was this smell which began to seep round the room "gawd some bugger's died its night we can't even open a window”. "I'm going to have a fag”. "Shit, you'll blow us all up". Quiet would return for a while then someone else decided to show off his musical talents, with a huge rrrrrrrrmph. Cries of "do you know Tiger rag" and “do you play requests”. "Well" said our hero, "the last parcel we got I played God save the queen, but half way frew t' chorus I shit mesen”. In the morning one bloke streched up in his bunk and said "jees I was chasing Betty Grable last night". "Did you catch her?" a bored voice queried. "Yea I was running on free legs". Another bloke complained he'd fell out of bed and cracked his shirt.

One could hear other curious noises at night. At one time I was sure we had a spy in our room. In the dark of the night I could hear some body was transmitting morse until I realised there were no dashes. I listened and sure enough there it was again, like a clock ticking tic tic tic tic tic then somebody snarled "I'm gonna kick that prick who's beatin' his dick then maybe we can get some sleep" and "aw put a sock in it", and “up yours". Finally peace would set in, then sniff snuffle sniff sniff "shit, f***off wiv yu dogs yu krout b******". And some body would kick the wooden wall of the barrack with his bare foot and in the quiet of the night it sounded like a military band was about to strike up, boom,boom,boom, "f***off an' tek yer flea ridden mongrels wit yer". "You might at least be polite and request them to desist and take their quadraped wormsacks some other place to crap”. A titter ran round the room, well half way round because by now some were dropping off. Then the saw hit a knot, well it sounded like it. Actualy it was a well aimed boot thudding against one blokes bunk,"shut yer snorin shit 'ed".

We were a happy band. Our little commando went hither and yon, doing this and doing that. Lofty wasn't a German guard any more he was one of us. The only difference was he slept in the Jerry barracks and was'nt locked in at night. The rifle he carried was an ornament, we would not even consider escape, one new bloke ventured a suggestion in that direction whereupon he was politely informed he would have great difficulty trying to wee without a willy "Oh,suddenly we are all pro German", he quipped. "Na mate, just pro Lofty" an' you'd do well ter mek yer mind up Lofty looks arter us, an' us looks arter 'im, an iff'n you can't see it ger off'n this bleedin' commando quick smart". Basically the answer was quiet simple, SURVIVAL. Lofty would go to the toilet and his rifle would be leaning against a tree, nobody would touch it. We had I think, mutual respect for each other. We could wait, we just woud'nt drop Lofty in it. We would wait and kill two birds with one escape so to speak.

Summer slipped into autumn and all the leaves turned to yellow and brown, blue skies turned to grey and one afternoon one of our blokes was sitting on a pile of leaves wiping his eyes". What's matter mate"? "Aw," came the reply "me bloody kid's goin't to be growd up when I gets home. He won't bloody know me". I think mabye what switched him on was the fact that snow flakes were falling and memories of Christmas were begining to surface, it was a time to be with family and your kids if you had any. Those that did'nt, had mum and dad. Also it was obvious Christmas would be here before it all ended. Fortunatly we had no fortune teller with us either, to tell us we would miss the next three. Then one saturday as we were dismissing at the guard room, having just got in from work, Lofty told us "morgan ich fahren zu hauser auf urlaub”, tomorrow I'm going home on leave. Immediatly there were cries of "how long for" and "good on yer Lofty" and at the back of your mind is that little niggle will we get him back? What is the next guard going to be like? Any way as soon as we got into our barrack room a suggestion was put forward and carried, we would all chip in something from our r.c. parcel so that Lofty and his family could have a good Christmas. A bloke called Howard went round and negotiated, well what he did was as he collected he might get a bar of palmolive soap, now you may think 'a bar of soap'? Well in Germany in WW II a bar of palmolive was worth the quivelent of $100 Aust today, a tin of coffee would be in the region of $1000 on the black market, so Howard would barter this for that and that for this, so that a bloke putting in a tin of coffee took out maybe two bars of soap and two blocks of chocolate as change so to speak. Well this worked out because we came up with a grand total of a tin of coffee, four bars of chocolate, three bars of palmolive, a tin of pipe tobacco and a fifty tin of Player's cigs. Then we got the inerp to go to the gate with the camp senior officer, our bloke and he requested to see the commandant. They were escorted to his office and the senior officer (our bloke)asked if we could give Lofty and his family this parcel, we had wrapped it up well. The commandant frowned (I think he was play acting) it is not customery for pow's to give presents to guards. “I only wish I could be so popular with my own men, however that is neither here nor there, of course you may, but, only because it will soon be Christmas." He asked his batman to fetch Lofty, "you may hand it to him personally", he said to our bloke. Lofty came in and our bloke handed him the parcel and said through the intrp" for your kids Lofty" have a good Chrismas if we don't meet again", that bloke had the wrong job he should have been a prophet.

The next day was sunday some blokes were doing their washing, others just lazing or appeared to be lazing around, in a pow camp you never know when the lid is going to blow off. However somebody walking round the wire suddenly piped up "there goes Lofty". There he was on the out side of the wire on the way to the station. Suddenly someone yelled "aufweidersehen Lofty" somebody else called "let's hear it for Lofty, fo-or he's a golly good fellow, he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fe-elow and so say all of us, hip,hip,ra hip,hip, ra hip,hip,ra Lofty turned and waved and held up his parcel, and a gruff voice said "bugger me, he's cryin". We drifted from the wire in ones and twos and soon there was just one bloke slowly strolling round the wire with an open book in his hand. It seemed like a long day.

Somebody shouted "hey there's a van at the gate" and "so what, it's bin before". "Yea, but I think it's a post van”. Suddenly the card game is abandoned and there is a rush to the window. Cries of “shit your right" and "wonder if she's sent me ciggies" and "you got a 'ope, some big fat slob of a gestapo bloke ull be sittin' back smokin' isell sisk, serve the b****** right 'n all, thievin' gits”. About an hour later our postie comes in to our barracks and shouts "mail up" and a voice at the back simpered "OOH happy memories". Another voice said "shit in it, an' listen for yu name". Quiet prevailed and the mail man who had been patiently waiting for the parry and thrust of wit to subside finally took the first letter from the bundle held in his hand "Bell" he cried, "where's ding dong"? "In the lew ah think, ahl tek it fr'im". "McCartney, ere, Farnsworth, over here old boy”. “Thank you”. “Death”. “I say old chum do you mind, but the name is De-Aath, thanks awfully”. “I say it looks like a bill, good lord it's from my tailor". Another voice piped "aint 'e the unlucky one." Then dipping into the bag again the postie brought out another fist full of letters. When these had been claimed, he brought out a parcel. Then another, until finally the bag was empty. Some disappointed bods picked up books, others just laid on their bunks and gazed at the bed boards supporting the bloke above. Another bloke was taking his disappointment out of the home made dart board. Finally every thing got back to normal. “Whose for a game of cards"? "Awe shove your cards". "Yea, one at a time". "Don' be like that, what did I do"? "Nuffink ahm just cheesed off". "Aint we all".

Then there was a bloke ashen faced at the door, "they just cut a bloke down in t' wash house". "Who"? "I dunno, I wen' in for a wash an' I seed these blokes roun' 'im, somebody said he'd gor a le'er, y'naw wun o' they dear John things”. "Well that's one way to escape". "Yea, but there's no future in it".

Monday morning "lose, aufstehen, mach shnell,siet zum arbiet, Monday morning", hurry, get up, quickly, time for work, we had our new guard. The commandant was full of his usual wit, "well gentlemen” he began, then you had a job to hear who was saying what because there was muttering in the ranks, like "all of a sudden we are gentlemen", and "cut the crap". Then the commandant "come, come, gentlemen" and cries of "love to" and “I did'nt know you cared". The commandant not being dirty minded was completly lost in this morass of words. Finally he stalked off into his office and banged shut the door". “Farkuenall", somebody shouted after him.

Charming we thought, now we've got one just the opposite. A small group started chanting "‘ere cum de turd, ere cum de turd”, as the guard approached and some one else chirped, "I fort Frankenstien ony made one monsta". He did, “we were wondering where you had got to". So they marched us down to the station and we got onto the train and we got off the train and waited for another one. That was the day I found out that I too could do someting stupid.

We were about twenty blokes on this commando, so if you could picture a railway station house and ajoining buildings with a platform on the other and a metal bridge joining the two platforms. Well we were on the platform having come over the bridge, and we were lazing about waiting for the train when in the far blue yonder I could see these two dots moving ever so slowly to my left, I whispered "aircraft", somebody said "what you whisperin' fer"? “Where"? “You o.k. mate"? I said "look at the top of that flag mast now come half way down it, and they are passing it------now. "Yea, I see em they're ME109's they're coming over the station and they are low. As they suddely came over the station house, where before they had not been heard, now with an air shattering roar, they passed over the station house. On impulse I shouted "ACTUNG SPITFIRE". I still wonder today how nobody was trampled to death. I also wondered what would have happened if our train had come just then, because most of the people on our side plaform were hiding on the side of the line under the platform overhang. A civvy cop came and had a go at us, but maybe because he was on his own, and we did not cringe, when he snarled at us he thought better of it. Any way the magically cleared platforms were soon humming with life again.

Then the train finally came we got on and travelled a few miles then got off, formed up and walked to these sand pits. There was grass on the top so it looked like an ordinary field or paddock but some one had dug down about twenty feet so there was this sand face for about a mile long and the bottom of the gully was about fifty yards wide. Close to the sand face was a set of narrow gauge lines. Sitting on these lines was a small steam engine attached to about ten steel tip up skips on wheels. The railway lines curled out of this field and dissapeared into the distance. The german civvy told us what to do, go to the buda(shed) pick up a shovel each, come back here and with two men to a wagon fill them with sand. This is a piece of cake some body scoffed, "I love playing with bucket and spade, bit like Blackpool." But as we had nearly filled one skip and were contemplating having a lay in the sun another little engine with ten skips came chuffing round the corner and as we all stopped to stare at it with cries of "fair crack of the whip" and “I want me cards” (employment cards necessarry in England to get a job). The boss holds them while you are working for him. The Jerry civvy starts shouting "lose, lose, arbiet, arbiet," come on work. And he pushed the nearest bloke to him towards the sand and made motions to dig. The guard who was sitting on the grass about fifty yards away was busy picking his teeth with a match and did'nt seem to be interested. The bloke who had been pushed just stood there so the civvy went to push him again at the same time mouthing "arbiet, arbiet" but he got the shock of his life when the bloke lifted the shovel like a double handed sword and snarled at the Jerry "the next f******step will be your last, "F***off you kraut b******or i'll do ya”. By this time the guards interest had been aroused and he ambled over and pointed the rifle at our bloke, "lose, arbiet". But I think our bloke had pulled the plug and he could not get it back in not without losing face. We were in it together so we stuck together and when one bloke said "posten" (gaurd) the guard looked at him and the bloke pointed to the guards rifle and held up four fingers then pointed to each of us in turn. The guard got the message, at most he could, if fast enough have shot four blokes but then he would have to reload and realising this he lowered the rifle, where upon one of our blokes snarled at the civvy "EnglnderKriegsgefangener Nicht Juden" (British pows not Jews) "piss off square 'ed".

It was a stalemate until midmorning when a natty dressed civvy came with another one who could translate, more or less. He got the gist of the situation and explained at great length to the top man, who in turn had a lot of heated words with the civvy, who had started it all. So we thrashed out the details, “no we were not going to load two trains on the trot we needed a rest in between", well how long a rest"? "How about the rest of the day "? "Let's be serious gentlemen". "There's that word again". “OK how about one train per hour", it was bandied back and forth then the civvy gent realised it was getting past lunch time and no more wagons had been filled. Also the commando at the other end would be idle, so without more ado he agreed to our terms and we went back to work. But the crafty sod moved starting time up one hour so we retaliated by going slow.

Well we had agreed to one skip per hour, that's four in the morning and four in the afternoon total eight. But now he alters the start time an hour, that means six extra loads per week. Not on. So we parried by going slow, so now he is getting five a day six if he's lucky. The guard meanwhile is there only to see no one escapes. He wants no part of what's going on and stresses this in no uncertain terms when the civvy appeals to him to make us work faster. They threatened to shoot some of us and one of our barrack room lawers drawled "I thought Germans were intelligent, obviously I was wrong, how stupid can you get, the more you shoot the less work gets done". Heads were nodded so this argument was valid. So they tried another angle, let's make them work sundays, so we agreed. There were smiles all round. Until our bloke pointed out that in England when a holiday is worked you got paid double time or two days in lue thereof. "Bat ve air not in England" to which our man replied "yea, well that makes it worse still don't it cos normally we would get workin away from 'ome allowance I think it's called 'ardship money, I think I'm right in sayin that, aint I Chalky". Chalky nodded. "Bat ve air at var". To which our bloke replied "I know that, you know that". But he said "try telling it to our shop steward" by now the Jerry is slowly edging round the twist, purple in the face now he throws up his arms, "vat ist a shop stevart. Ve don hev shop stevart in chormany". Quick as a flash someone said "no mate you got some thin' a lot bleedin' worse, you got bleedin' 'itler. Personally I'd raa'ver 'ave bleedin' foul pest or colorado bleedin beetle, f*** 'itler, and like a motley mob of monks the others intoned "aaaaammen" "f*** 'itler". Somebody with compassion held out a handkerchief, "ere mate, you keep it, you might need it agin".

This bickering was finally resolved when the powers that be understood they had a time bomb waiting to go off, and only needed the right jolt. So they finally accepted a proposal set by our blokes who had worked it out, and it worked like a charm. They decided and Jerry accepted eight wagons a day. We queeried even if we fill them all by three o clock, they laughed "ya, ya, "you cen fill zem by midday ent go home". So we did, and some days they were filled by midday. And during summer it was nice just lounging all afternoon by the pool. By the way, the system of work proposed by us, and accepted so readily by the Bosch was called 'pensum arbiet. In English it is known as peacework (a quota). That really got up Jerry's nose and when the bloke in the posh suit came to see the commandant he was told to get lost, a bargain is a bargain he was politely informed.

I was shovelling like mad one day, we had bets on whose skip could be filled the quickest, when I saw lots of pretty lights flickering and woke up in hospital where the doc said "you have a damaged", I can't remember what he called it but it is the large bone at the base of the neck between the shoulders. I said I knew about it from the German doctor at Luckenwald. Anyway after a few days I was moved to my own bunk and I laid there for about another six days. Have you ever noticed, to move you have to move your head first, and since I could not lift my head off the pillow I was'nt going anywhere. As it got better I could turn on my side and one day I heard somebody suggesting we stir up the guard on the wire. It must have been sunday, other wise everybody would have been at work. Now because I could not lift my head and could only hear something was afoot, I was quiet surprised when I looked through the window and saw two arabs with prayer mats saunter past the guard who was busy picking his nose, rolling the proceeds into a ball, inspecting it closely then with a flick of his thumb tried to smash the nearest window with it. The guard suddenly stopped in mid pick and with half of his middle finger poked somewhere behind his left eye, he turned like a slow motion ballet dancer to follow these two mystical figures. I heard some body say "we should have had a third bloke with them, the guard would probably have run into that wood and come back with a christmas tree". The two dressed as arabs got to the end of the barracks spread their mats and pretended to pray. Having done that they came back and as they passed the guard the guard said some thing to them. They both bowed and scraped chanting in Arabic "anna musharif effendi", I don't under stand sir and run like hell down the side of the barracks. When they came into the room they were gasping and laughing. Older blokes took a dim view "you are going to bait the guards once too often", but smiled.

There was a iron manhole cover in the vegy patch. I noticed it one day when I went for a swim. I was on my own, my neck was a lot better, and the doc said, make the most of the rest of the week. If the Jerry doctor makes a suprise visit I could be in hot water if you are not sick. I said "don't worry about it doc, come monday I'll be back on the sand detail". “No" said doc "I talked to the commandant about your neck, and it was his suggestion you go to the other commando, unloading the skips. I’m given to understand it is the less arduous task." Anyhow the next monday broke the monotony. I joined these nine blokes and now the unit was ten strong. Soon arriving at this new place I noticed the Jerry foreman, "Wot's that"? I asked. “What’s what" said a bloke nearby". “That" I replied pointing to this, what I thought was a life sized cardboard cut out of one of the three stooges in a golfers outfit. "Oh him, he's Polish". “What Cherry Blossom or French"? “No, you clot, he's from Poland". I knew a woman who had a wooden baby. "Really"? “Yea, the father was a Pole"

Back to this Pole, he was about five two, thick set. Well definitely thick, beady eyes, he wore a flat cap, looked like somebody had beaten his head in with a plank, a Stewart tartan shirt, olive green tie with a stick pin which looked like a six inch nail with a golf ball glued to it. Over this opulant display of threads, he was wearing a good imitation of a Canadian lumberjack's jacket. His legs which looked like they had been ripped off a billiard table were adorned by plus fours, brown plus fours, knitted socks up to the knees and brown highly polished square toed shoes. I wondered if when he takes his shoes of at night, did he have square toes. He also had a hanky sticking out of his top pocket and it reeked of ashes of roses. I thought, my god if he drops his hand at the wrist with this mob looking on he's a dead duck or some thing similar, and in my minds eye I could see what looked like a rugby scrum with the Pole as the ball. I did'nt like him at first sight, the first thing that came to mind was we are in this war because of Poland and here we have a Pole free as a bird working for the Germans. "Ere you 'erd that sayin', up the pole. Well it'll mean 'im if he starts any funny stuff wiv us." I agreed. The full skips would come in along the narrow guage railway and stop just short of the road, then we would tip them up and all the sand would fall out. When the train had gone we would level the sand.

One of our blokes had been standing in the wrong place when somebody pulled the lever to tip the sand. Somebody yelled quick grab a shovel, all we could see were two legs sticking out from under this upturned tub. Two bods got either side of the tub could'nt move it. Cries of "we're going to be too late". Shouts of “empty the tub". Two blokes with shovels were going bersek, the sand was fly'ing out of the uprurned tub. Some others were ty'ing to remove the sand off the trapped blokes legs. See if you can clear the sand for him to breath", and "I can't get far enough under, the bloody wheel's in the way, no,no, don't move the wagon till I see where his head is, right get hold of the tub now and lift”. By now the two bods try'ing to lift had been joined by two more and with an enormous shout of heave the tub screeched upright. We got him clear of the sand and cleaned him off. Somebody checked to see if anything was broken, part of his scalp was torn back, and he said he did'nt feel very well. He spent the next week in hosptal. It also suddenly dawned on us that here there were no safety rules, no body to appeal to. Well there was always the camp commandant and he was always happy to see us so happy in our work. When some thing like this happened suddenly he was stone deaf, or we had leprosy. Anyway we soldiered on to coin a phrase .

"lose,aufshtehen,come mien herren,lose,lose siet zum appell". "hurry, get up, come gentlemen, hurry, hurry, time for roll call". "F**off it's Sunday, ya, ya, richtig es ist suntag, lose rouse mit eur". So we fell in for roll call. The commandant came out of his office with his usual jaunty swagger, “Gentlemen, I am touched by your enthusiasm to impress me with your regal presence, I am indeed honoured to have you as my guests, you slouch up here like a lot af tramps and have the audacity to call your self soldiers, all I can see are a lot of unshaven louts”. "Tell you what commandant, you come wiv' us on monday and work along wiv us, instead of sittin' in that office all day playin' wiv' yer pet ferrit, an see ow you feels firs' thin' of a mornin'. All the sentries reported all present and correct and when this part of the proceedings was done the order "dick smith" (nothing to do with today's electronics) (dismiss) was usually given. But today the commandant just stood there and did not move. The guards just stood still, and gradually our blokes stopped telling jokes or arguing until everything was so still it was eerie. You could have heard a pin drop.

The commandant quietly said "gentlemen we have our differences, but can we put them aside just for one day, because of your esteem for' --------'-(I can't remember the name he said, but we knew him as Lofty), sadly I have to inform you that he died in his bed in his sleep, due to wounds, he leaves a wife and two children”. The brit senior officer turned to the parade and said "when called to attension there will be absolute silence and no one will move until you get the order to stand at ease, we will now pay our respects to a gentleman, P'RAAADE SHAN". For two minutes we stood there. When told to stand at ease the commandant said "gentlemen”, and there was a long pause as his eyes scanned the parade, “what can I say”. He turned and swiftly strode away. I think from that day on he had a dent in his armour. We were dicksmithed (dissmissed) and the blokes wandered quietly back to their barracks. That was a funny Sunday. It seemed an extra long day. Nobody went to the pond. Nobody wanted to go weeding in the vegy patch, I wanted to, but if I had I would have stuck out like a sore thumb.

I was interested in that iron man hole cover, how far up did the water come. I had by this time worked out that it had nothing to do with the sewage, so it could only be connected with the pool. Now if some body could get under that iron lid ? the only way to do that would be from the pool. So the following sunday I went for a swim and for a lot of sundays after that, until one day this grill of thick wire that was embedded in the concrete finally fell out becuase of my continual picking at it with nails scavenged from the wood work of our barracks. I must have worn down three nails at least. I let it fall into all the other rubbish on the floor of the pool. Then I returned to the barrack room. Soon we were having a confab about the iron lid. Lets leave it for a while and see if the grating is repaired, “good idea”. Protests like "but it does'nt go any where", to which I would reply "nobody is twisting your arm, but when I'm sitting in Lyon's cafe stuffing myself with steak and cream buns I'll spare a thought for you sitting here sipping your soup, you get nothing without effort”.

We were standing on the platform waiting as usual for the train, minding our own buisness, when this Jerry civvy comes onto the platform, "aiyup, bait time". This was the signal to take the mick, of course every body was up to it we had all noticed this civvy. But when bait is heard it's like waving a salmon the size of a marlin in front of your average angler. We waited till he got just passed the middle of us and we sprang to attention parroting "hiel Hitler" and flung up our arms. The response was immediate "hiel hitler and up went the arm”. Suddenly he realised who we were and his face darkened with anger. "Farfluchter englander kriegsgefangener" he snarled (cursed english prisoners of war). To which someone replied "up yours kraut". The guards did'nt bother us too much. We kept them sweet with a little bit of chocolate, the odd ciggy. I noticed some red painted fire buckets on the platform, if I had'nt I would have fallen over them. I think Jerry thought Tom Barker's coming to day let's trip him up. Well I watched this Jerry come through the barrier. He looked like he'd just stepped out of Harrods of London, Homberg hat striped trousers, black jacket, furled umberella, natty tie, spats, and of course a brief case. Under the hat brim these two black beads were going like the winscreen wipers on a car surveying all and sundry. He backs up to one of these fire buckets and casually pulls out a thin cheroot which he lit and turning round puts the match into the sand in the fire bucket. While doing a quick imitation of him, I'm watching a tennis match routine. He runs his fingers through the sand and brings out a tin af coffee, which like a flash disappears into his pocket. So this is the middle man I thought. Come to think of it he did look a bit like Capone. On another occasion I noticed this scruffy looking bloke sitting on a seat, looked like he was waiting for a train. Now and again he would take his hand from his pocket and there was what appeared to be a note. Suddenly he spotted a civvy copper come onto the platform and he was gone, I thought mabye one of our blokes who had escaped from another camp and needed help. Two days later we heard one of the French underground had been caught and shot by the gestapo near the station where we got on the train to go to work.

It was'nt long before the Polish foreman was in trouble. When a train has been and the sand is heaped up in a row we would level it off by shovelling it over the edge of the now long heap. The idea was to have a wedge of sand each side of the road then stick a bridge over it. Neat, now you had over and under roads, no need for traffic sigs etc, and it cut accidents. But that was in the future ten years from now a lot can happen in one year let alone ten. Usally, if it rained we would get under a tree for shelter. The Pole didn’t mind this, but if there was a train to be unloaded he led us to understand we could shelter when we had emptied the train, and he would sit in his little wooden hut eating a sandwich and drinking erzats coffee. "That bloke is over due for a lesson on how to behave when he has company, and I know just the thing to bring him down a peg". So we had another of those "sss, yea, an'ssss o.k. lets do it” . So the next time we did the "ho rook" (all together heave) routine on the line which by now was one story high, we gave it one more as soon as his back was turned. Then when the next train of sand arrived the bank of sand under it would slide and the complete train would roll over and down the enbankment. The train driver had to jump for it. When it happened the pole was stunned. He screamed at the train driver who returned it with interest and pointed out he only drove the train you (the Pole) are in charge of this bit of line. The pole turned to the guard for support, and the guard shrugged and walked away muttering. We clapped the guard, the pole grabbed a shovel and we clapped and shouted "bravo". Boiling with rage the Pole smashed the shovel across the end of a truck. "Take that man's name segeant, barrack room damages" somebody called out. So we got a day off because they had to bring in some heavy lifting gear to restore the train to the line. They also had to replace some of the line because it was too badly twisted to use. About a month later one of our blokes said "who puts the grease in the wheel box on these trucks". Another bod said, "when they are waiting up yonder to be filled, there is this greaser, who gives em a squirt now and agin so to speak". "I wonder if we could get some of it"? was the query. "Gawd, you don't need 'im, help yerself, just get a spoon and take some out of each wagon, ten wagons that's twenty wheels. What d'ye want with all that grease"? "Well, you know, that end near the road, if we were to put grease on the track only where the engine is, ‘cos the trucks have no brakes, only the engine has an' when he goes to stop he's going to keep going”.

The idea was voted not on, there could be kids walking by, it's like setting a bomb, once set you have no further control of it, also it smacked too much of sabotage for which you are immediately shot and we could not blame it on the Pole. The last one clinched it, so the idea was given the boot. We did however tip another train over the side and the Pole got the blame again, so they axed him. The next bloke was an old Jerry, some bod remarked "God they are scraping the bottom of the barrel". God made no reply.

We had finished work for another day and got the train back to camp. We marched up the road and into the gate, halted, tuned left and waited to be counted. Usually a guard comes out of the guard room and counts us and goes back into the guard room. But today,just because I have a torpedo shaped loaf of bread under my tunic two guards come out. While one is counting, the other is busy searching all the blokes. Of course when he gets to me and he runs his hands over my tunic it is obvious I have some thig hidden there. "Was haben sie da unten"? (what have you under your jacket?), and being not too bright I replied "es ist eine u boot" (it is a submarine). The guard smiled "ach so sie sind ien frisches yunger was"? (Oh so you are a clever boy what?). Personally I think "So, your a smart arse?" would fit better. Any way the two of them escorted me to the guard room where a bloke was trying to tattoo 'Brits give me the shits' on his left fore arm while trying to drown his sorrows in a bottle of shnapps. The three had a confab and suddenly I was grabbed both my arms were pinned on the table and in two seconds flat I had Stalaglll D on my right forearm. Then I think the snapps began to work overtime, he had three goes at putting 12244 on my left arm. I lost the bread. I reported the incident. The lost bread I knew we could do nothing about, but the tattooing was another matter. But our bloke pointed out it had happened because the commandant was away for a few days, if I wanted to push this issue it could make the guards turn nasty, then everybody would catch the flack on all commando's. Besides you can get it rubbed off when you get home. I had to be content with that. On my way to my barrack I heard the pipes being played. It was Smithy one of our pipers and as he walked up and down slowly in the confines of the wash house. His eyes were streaming and he was playing a lament, Fingals Weeping, A tribute to the fallen. I came out straight away to give him privacy.

Sunday came and I gave the iron lid some thought. So to cover my activities in that direction I enlisted the aid of some mates and we decided to pool bash for a hour or so whilst the others were having a swim, I was having a butcher's along the tube that led to the iron lid. I had already established the hieght of water under the lid so I knew there was room to breath. I only went in a couple of yards then backed out and got out of the pool. I wasn’t sure if I got in I could turn round to get back because I could not use the lid in day time, I would be spotted immediately. I would lay on my bunk pondering all angles to the iron lid. In frustration one sunday I got four blokes to go with me to the pond. Leaving it as late as we dared, we all dived in together and while the others got out, I swam under to the tube and crawled along until I could see iron rungs going up to the lid. I thought well that's a bonus at least there is something to stand on, so climbing up the rungs I could finally see the sky through the key holes in the lid. It seemed an eternity till dark, I heard the middle wire guard go by and somebody in the Jerry block started a gramaphone playing. Then it started to rain and I suddenly realised I was cold. The skin on my hands was all wrinkled and the water started to creep up my neck because the pool level was rising due to the rain. Outside it was pitch black and I pushed at the lid to lift it. By now I was having to angle my head to breath. The lid was stuck and I was beginning to wish I was in my bunk. Putting the back of my hand on my head I lunged upward at the lid and it lifted. I crawled out and put the lid back. At least the rain was warmer than the water I had just left. I crawled along in the darkened row of vegies back to the pool and uncovered my clothes and put them on, then I got into the pool and washed off most of the mud. Then I got in the shelter of the jerry block and waited to let the water run off, while there the work party from the cookhouse walked by so I joined them and walked past the guard on the middle wire into my own block. Cries of "bugger me it's Doggy, we fought yow was long gone", when I walked in. To which I replied "well some of you were right, it does't go any where”, and noticed one or two smug faeces. I would like to point out here that I was unaware that a party would be returning from the cook house at that particular time when I joined them. Sometimes even now, I muse “how lucky can you get". It also made me become more wary, to us it seemed a prank, an adventure, call it what you will. But to Jerry it was a very serious war. Incidentally a few days later I got this cold and it stuck to me like glue for about three weeks it seemed, then I got sinus trouble and I put it all down to the cold water in the pipe.

Sunday morning roll call the camp feldwebel (sergeant) asked "are there any people here who have knowledge of farm work? Any one interested report here tomorrow morning, it does not matter if you are working elsewhere we will find some one to replace you”. So on monday morning about twenty of us were taken to the railway station and after maybe fourty miles we got off and walked to this village, the first old bloke we saw the guard asked him directions. The old Jerry asked "wer sind die auslander" (who are the foreiners), to which the guard replied "Englander". The old bloke said "mach's nichts" (does'nt matter) and pointed to a house on the corner of a lane.

Now this house had a high wall with broken glass set in concrete on top and it streched to the next building on the left. To the right was what looked like a long barn and from the back of that to the next tall building was another wall also covered in broken glass. The barn type building had barbed wire criss crossed across the windows and I counted four big windows, the far one was smaller and narrow. I also noted the small window had no barbed wire over it. In the left wall where two big gates which when opened and could admit two horses and a farm wagon. This gate we were marched through and we right turned and walked into this big barn. On entering the barn we found near the door, but more to the center of the room was big pot bellied stove, on the left was what looked like a stage, so I thought maybe it was used as a theatre for the entire village 'cum Michaelmas' or when ever there was a special event.

On the floor were sacks of straw and the guard pointed to these and "schlafen", so we gathered these were our new beds. The guard then walked through the barn and turning to the right went into a passage way that led to the house. At this stage I was looking at the windows from the inside looking out and all the windows facing the lane had barbed wire nailed on but the ones facing into the farmyard had none. Well it was pretty obvious with broken glass on the wall top, we would not be going out that way. To start with we would need a ladder to get up the wall and having got to the top you could break a leg jumping down not counting the sharp glass to cross.

Finally the guard came back with blankets and gave us one each. When we pointed out it was cold in this big old barn he pointed to the stove and shrugged. We got settled in and wondered what was going to happen next. We got a fire going in the stove and when it got going it changed everything. Soon the pot belly started to glow a dull red and even at three yards away you could feel the warmth from it. This was not so bad after all. Then the guard brought in a dixie full of stew along with tin plates and spoons and a slice of bread each and it was'nt long before we were lounging on these sacks of straw. You had to get used to them or you would just roll off them. After jumping up and down on them once or twice then turn them over and doing the same to that side they finally capitulated and allowed you to lay there without chucking you off. The only trouble was because the sacks were only so long you had to roll up another empty sack to use as a pillow, trouble with this was, if you moved too much during the night, the straw sack parted company with your pillow sack and you could wake up with a stiff neck. To overcome this we would tie string round both ends of the pillow and sew it through the top of the straw sack and it solved the problem. We did'nt know it at the time but this was only the first problem we were to encounter on this job.

Another was washing our clothes. To do this meant you had to strip, wrap a drying cloth or rag or newspaper wrapped round you held in check by a bit of string. Then wash your clothes and put them near the stove to dry. Now in a pow camp there is no problem because there are no civilians, but here there are windows all over the place and any one coming in from the house, well you never can tell when it might just not be the guard. I could just imagine a little old lady not knowing we were there and hearing us being noisy thinking perhaps there was a concert for the village going on and she was missing out, coming in and suddenly seeing us all naked and having a heart attack. Sabotage, und shoot the mongrels, poor defenceless little old lady, Poland had lots of little old ladies, und men, und kids, und so on.

Well the first day, up at seven, wash under the pump, brrr the water was freezing but it did get the circulation going. Then fall in and march to this small farm about a mile away from the village. There we were taken by this French bloke to a field where there were three very long heaps of what looked like straw and dirt mixed. I recognised it for what it was, a potato pie, this is where the potatoes are stored when they are first dug up and collected. They are put in these long heaps the covered over with straw, the earth is thrown on to stop the wind blowing the straw away, also it stops the frost in winter time from damaging the spuds. By the way did you know Hitler came from Ireland originally, he was called Spud Murhpy then he moved to Germany and changed his name to Dick Tater. Then monsewer le Frog took us to this what looked like a mangle, but with a long drum made of meshed wire actually it was a potatoe riddler. Potatoes are loaded into one end and they are graded simply by turning the handle causing the drum to go round. The potatoes then tumble round and down the tube, small ones drop through the mesh, bigger ones fall through further down and the largest make it out of the end and into sacks. The smaller ones are usualy saved as pig feed, the next size are saved for self use on the farm and the biggest go to market. In winter everything is covered with rime so the last thing you would want to do is grab that handle with bare hands, so out of some sacking we made mittens. That solved that problem then the Frog had a go at us for cutting up sacks. We told him "ok, you turn the handle with no mittens". As he wandered off muttering to himself a new phrase was invented by one of our more educated colleagues "F***off mierd kopf." Now if you look at that, it is interesting to note there are in fact four languages involved in this collage of words, there is Fowl language, English, French, and German. In essence what we have is a masterpiece which when translated into one language is roughly F***off shit head.

If it was a nice day, well every day is a nice day, some are just better than others. If the sun is shining and you can look around, maybe there are some wild flowers like violets in the hedge bottoms or crocus on the bank, sometimes you can see buds pushing up through the snow. Keep winding the handle round and round and round and round and round, and thinking why does somebody have to spoil it. All these pretty flowers and someone comes along and pulls them up just to stick in a jug. Leave them where they are, then the next person who comes by can also enjoy the view. Stuff it, let somebody else have a go "here Dicko, you have go". "Not me". "No, nor ‘im". "Only time e's in'erestid is if it goes up an' dahn”. So somebody else would take a turn and I would take a turn at sewing the now full sacks of potatoes, but first they had to be weighed. Yes, you guessed it, before you can get any work done most blokes wanted to know how much they weighed, well maybe it was because the scales were a bit like a seesaw it brought back marital or child hood memories. “It's all in the mind”, a big bloke got on and we had to change the weights round. He was heavier built than most and he weighed just over twelve stone, "cor stone the crows" he growled. "I was fifteen stone before these b****** got me”. Somebody else chimed in with "ow abaht stonin' some more crows en ap'n us cud ave for'n'twenny black birds baked in a pie, hu, hu, hu," and ark at ‘im "bleedin' potty loriette o' stalag tree'o'bleedin' tree".

I also had lost weight, it did not bother me too much because I never was a fanatic in that direction. The next day it rained so we did quite a bit of sheltering in the wagon shed, and you know what they say about idle hands. Well that's when you start hatching plots. "Doggy you gor a brain loik a can o' worms". "Ah mean w'ere do's yer ger all these ideas" (because I would put forward different formulae) for escaping. Some one suggested I had a one track mind and I agreed. I said "the track starts here and ends at our front door back home". "If you keep your eyes and ears open and make mental notes, you also can have a brain like a can of worms”. To which our resident wit replied "yea, ba in 'is case 'e don't 'ave a can opener, do ee". I would catch some ones eye and they would just smile and slowly shake the head and we would continue working. They wer'nt a bad mob of blokes, about four o'clock we would pack up for the night this entailed covering over the pie so the frost during the night would be kept at bay. I think everyone had one potatoe in his pocket and I think the guard knew we had but he said nothing. So when we got back to our barn cum billet, since we got stew when we got in we decided to roast them by the fire for supper. The guard even brought in some salt and wagging a finger said "sie can nicht mair wie eine bringen" (Don't bring back more than one) in other words don't get greedy and spoil it. So we left it at that and every body was happy.

The odd egg was pilfered straight from the horses mouth, so to speak, so it would be made into an omlette and four blokes got to share it. Next time another four would share it and so on. One bloke really smacked his lips and said "I heard abaht this bloke who went into a cafe and the waitress said "we have a special treat today". "Oh yea, I said tryin' ta be perlite". "Yes”, she said, “there is some nice tongue, or calf cheek". "No fanks" I said, well I did'nt fancy any fing out of an animals mouf' so she brings me these two boiled eggs, luvly they was too. "We were going though this potatoe pie like nobodies business and we had stacked up quite a sizeable pile all in bags and weighed ready for market. Then these two Frogs would come with a wagon and ox, load them and take them away. I noticed that these two Frenchmen came every day to work on bicycles which were leaned up against the wall. At about quarter to four they would leave on their bikes, this did not mean anything to me at the time, but later on I also noticed that on a thursday night they must stay over for the night, because normaly we get to workin in the morning and they usualy turn up at about half an hour later. But friday morning they were already there, so they maybe get paid thursday and stay to play cards with the farmer. Well I put this info in a pigeon hole as it were and carried on with the good work.

We did not work on sundays so we would wash our clothes out. I was busy washing my shirt and the guard came out and watched me with an amused look on his face. Suddenly he said to me "lieber Gott warum so feil seife" (dear God why do you use so much soap). He was'nt a bad bloke, in fact a bit later on he stopped carrying his rifle round and left it in his room, presumably locked up, he did not know us that well I think. Well, it was sunday and I had washed my clothes so I wandered inside. Most of the other blokes were out side in the farm yard and the guard was out there with them. It was a good day to wash clothes, warm wind nice sunshine. There was a bloke from the Black Watch inside and quick as a flash I checked the guards position and whispered to jock “keep your eye on the guard”. "Yea right, what's on" he whispered back. "I don't know yet but I've got a feeling there's no wire on that little window. "Och they would'ny be that stupid" he said "would they"? I said I thought the little window would have to be where the end of the stage was, so again I asked him to watch the guard, "if he stands up start whistling" I said. "Ok", said jock "watch yerrsel". I climbed onto the stage and to the left was a door. I opened it and it was a small dressing room with a few clothes on a peg. I nipped quietly over to the opposite door opened it and lo and behold there was the window. I tried it and it opened without a sound and closing it quickly I closed the door and got off the stage then walked to the door. The guard was sitting in the yard cleaning under his nails with a match stick and enjoying the sunshine meanwhile my heart was thumping away because suddenly a plan was taking shape, the can of worms was working overtime. I got the jock bloke in a corner and we had a confab. I told him my idea and he thought it couldn’t lose.

Actually you did'nt have to be a genius to think up this idea, it was mostly common sense, but jock thought it could work and I thought it would work. It was two to nothing so the vote was carried and we would start the ball rolling straight away. Quite simply, the idea was that since Jerry had zones, if we could get out of our zone quietly at night hide up during the day, keep to the country away from roads, walk in the shadows of hedges so you are not seen in the moon light, live off the land then no one could give you away. Once out of the area it was that simple, and to get out of our of the area in one night, two bikes would be a great help. With a bit of luck we could contact the underground and go from there. So we arranged it for next week. In the meantime we dried bread and sewed it into our overcoats, fresh vegies we could get from farms we passed by, and then we were like two kids waiting for christmas.

The guard would retire to his room once we got in from work, maybe to have a wash up. Then about half an hour would go by. He would appear with the stew or soup. The menu was varied by the way, one night we would have potatoe stew, the next night it would be potatoe soup, the next night it would be soup with potatoes in it. Then for a change we would have boiled potatoes with their jackets on, and soon blokes were wandering around like zombies muttering, "the Ayes have it". Sunday night you got a change, a bowl of sourkraut (cabbage boiled in vinegar). One night we got lentils. All I could see were bed bugs, because they look like bed bugs, sometimes your mind plays tricks and you are so convinced, they seem to move, so there is no way am I going to eat these.

The guard would sit by the pot bellied stove all evening. Sometimes when he felt like it, he would ask one of our blokes to sit for him. He would sketch their portrait, and he was good. When it appeared everyone was down for the night, he would put out the light and retire to his quarters. The silence would be broken only by a snore, or a sound like somebody had let go of the balloon before tying some string on it. Sometimes to ease the tension somebody would say in the quiet dark "I don't believe it", and a weary voice would query, "oh, what don't you believe?" "I'm getting fat" came the reply. "Nor on spuds yu aint" and "tek yer 'and offenit and go ter sleep". Another voice volenteered "maybe yow is pregnant". "Yu'll both be f****** pregnant if yu don shit in it an go to sleep".

Next morning it was over cast but not raining, mabye a bit cold. Coming out of that warm barn into the cold morning air, combined with a wash in the icy water from the pump served to wake us up. Now a brisk walk would get the red corpuscles racing round your system. Then some twit started, "left, left, I ad a good job but I left," and when he shut up some body else decided to imitate