Five or six of us new arrivals were put into a hut where senior Army NCOs had been long established. Most of them had been taken in North Africa and had been held in Italy until that country’s capitulation in 1943. They had been most disappointed that they did not get their freedom when that happened, having been quickly taken over by the Germans and brought here.
We were soon on good terms with them◦– they could tell some good stories about their war in the desert◦– and, as we were comparatively new prisoners, they wanted to know what was going on back home. We were surprised to learn from some of them how badly they had been treated by the Italians as we always thought they would be a soft touch, but these were tough men, and of the two evils, they preferred the Germans.
Stalag XX-A was in many ways quite different from Stalag Luft VI; most notably, there was much more space to walk around in◦– but it was equally secure. The barbed wire was all there to the standard pattern, the guards were in the Posten boxes with machine guns at the ready, waiting for someone to so as much as touch the warning wire. The food ration was no more generous, set to bring about slow starvation, but the main difference was being with the Army, which expanded the topic of conversation by listening to their experiences, and vice versa.
The climate was warmer, which perhaps helped to reduce the craving for food a little, and we were in Poland where, even if they dare not do anything to help us, we knew the locals were on our side.
Before becoming a prison camp, we learned that this establishment was a Polish Army Officers Training Centre. There remained evidence that the Germans continued to use some of the land for training purposes, and we learned to be very careful where we walked. Most unusually, prisoners were allowed to be out of the huts until it was dusk and, taking advantage of this, a comrade and I had stayed out almost to the limit and were hurrying back to the hut before any shooting started.
Bill Frost, my companion, was a slightly built man who, as we were walking along chatting, suddenly disappeared, but it must have been a second or so before I realised I was talking to myself. Looking back, only his head could be seen protruding above the ground. What had happened was he had stepped into a hole only just big enough in diameter to take his body, but deep enough for him to fall up to his chin into the ground. Adding to his plight, the hole was partly filled with water. It was quite a struggle getting him out. We concluded when discussing his misadventure the next day, that we had been walking over land that had been used in anti-tank exercises, where a man could conceal himself in the path of an oncoming tank and as it passed over him he could attach an explosive device to the underside of it, which would explode and disable the tank when it got a safe distance away. Not a job to be envied.
Attached to, but not housed inside the camp, was a contingent of Russian prisoners who were used to do all the hard, manual jobs such as digging trenches or erecting fences. They were always under guard, and we were never allowed to have contact with them, but we could sometimes see them outside the wire at work and could observe how cruelly their guards treated them, frequently beating them about the body with their rifle butts for a trivial offence. Strangely, this did not appear to have much effect on the Russians, the blows just seemed to bounce off, and sometimes they would grin back at the guard, which would bring on even more punishment. The Russian prisoners, it seemed whatever the weather, were always dressed in thick padded clothing that would have been necessary to face the bitter cold of a Russian winter, and perhaps they thought it was worth wearing in all weathers as it gave protection against the punishing blows they received.
One morning I witnessed a minor act of sabotage, and seeing that it was against the Germans, it was amusing to watch. At some distance outside the wire a new fence was being erected, probably to make the camp even more secure, and the task was being carried out by several Russians supervised by three armed guards. Unusually, the guards were taking a more practical part in the work, not the hard stuff, but indicating where the holes were to be dug and so on. This caused them not to be watching what all of the work party were doing at any one time, and, as each fresh hole was being dug, one of the Russians, who had managed to hang back unnoticed, was pulling up the posts that had previously been carefully set vertically in the holes, one at a time. With their attention firmly fixed on the one post being set, none of the guards looked up to take in the whole scene. The Rusky, as we called them, looked across occasionally and grinned broadly. Inevitably one of the guards would look up and around, and then the thick padded jacket worn by the culprit would be tested fully for its other qualities, but since it was time for our luxurious midday swede soup to be dished out, I did not wait for fear of missing it.
On another occasion as I and another prisoner were out enjoying the extra walking space around the camp in glorious sunshine, we heard a jingling noise. We immediately recognised the Camp Commandant in all his military splendour, driving a very smartly turned-out pony and carriage. We knew better than to ignore him, but what could we do? Somehow the correct procedure flashed into our minds, from those punishing weeks we had spent in the early days of training and square bashing. We simultaneously sprang to attention, did a smart left turn to face the rough track he was travelling on, and remained in that position while he passed by. The most we expected in recognition was perhaps a glance in our direction, and how he managed it without losing his balance, I don’t know, but still holding the reins in one hand, he rose to his full height and gave, not the newly imposed Nazi salute, but a good and proper military one. We felt quite honoured.
Another incident has remained lodged in my mind. I can’t remember which Stalag it was, but in the surrounding woods military exercises were constantly in progress. Occasionally we would catch sight of a Tiger tank and thought how frightening it must have been to face one in battle. One morning prisoners inside the toilet block, which was near to the wire, got a sample of their firepower, fortunately not the main gun, but from a machine gun. I was not there at the time, but I did get a dramatic account from someone who was. The toilet blocks were quite long, accommodating a number of people, but with no privacy of course. That was alright as one could sit and chat to a neighbour, but on this particular occasion tranquillity turned to panic when bullets came through the wall. Luckily, they must have travelled to almost the extent of their range before doing so, as they appeared to do no more than drop inside at the feet of the long row of people seated there. The whole place became empty very quickly. Some time later an official apology from the CO of the offending unit was posted up on the notice board; our Commandant must have taken some action on behalf of his prisoners, and to think we did not think he cared that much about us.
It must be said that the Commandants of each of the Stalags I was in appeared to be, in most ways, real professional soldiers and not Nazis. I think they had no control of the food rations, quantity or quality, but of course I did not have to deal with them, so I can only tell of some small and insignificant details that make me say that perhaps they were not too bad.
Our stay in Poland did not last long and we knew that we would more than likely be moved on again when we started to hear what must have been Russian guns in the distance.
We did not get too excited about liberation, however, having learnt our lesson in the previous camp and, sure enough, I believe it was around September 1944, there was a hasty but calmly executed evacuation and a march back to Torun railway station. Once there we found the goods trucks were waiting with the usual security measures in place, but this time we were packed in even tighter; there was barely room to stand.