I had been in the camp for just over two months when I heard that the Division Göring had accepted me. The date of my conscription was 1 May, 1944, just three weeks away. I was to be allowed a few days off before reporting for duty at the division’s main training establishment in Utrecht, about thirty miles south-east of Amsterdam in Holland. Naturally, I was sad to be exchanging a happy and safe environment for the grim uncertainty of life in the army, and that I would be leaving the Heinelt twins behind. To my regret at parting from those exceptionally good companions were added feelings of apprehension when I remembered that soon they too they would be conscripted. How would these gentle people cope with what lay ahead and how, since it was contrary to the rules that twins be conscripted to the same unit, would they endure being parted from each other?
The last days in camp passed quickly and on 27 April I said goodbye to Heinz and Günther and my other comrades. There was a touch of spring in the air when I took my last walk through the woods to Krokow to start the long train journey back to Mücheln. I had already written to Aunt Grete and she was expecting me that evening.
During my three days in Mücheln, I wrote letters and visited acquaintances. On the evening before I left for Holland, Aunt Grete’s sister-in-law, who happened to be staying in the house said good-bye to me, mouthing a silent prayer as she made the sign of the cross on my forehead. I knew that her son had been killed in action a year before and, though I was deeply touched by her gesture, I could not but think that she would have done the same for him, yet now he was dead.
4
THE ARMY
My last day as a civilian had arrived and I got up in good time to catch an early morning train to Halle. My fellow-passengers were a mixture of civilians and military personnel, but there was little conversation except between people who were obviously travelling together. It must be remembered that soldiers were expressly warned about chance remarks they might make in conversation with strangers. Notices bearing the legend, “Feind hört mit!” (The Enemy overhears you) could be seen everywhere and civilians took care not to mention mail from relatives in uniform, recent air-raids, rationing, or many other things which could somehow be of use to a listener in foreign pay. This tended to put a damper on talk between strangers and I did not get into conversation with anybody in my carriage.
After reading a magazine that I had brought with me, my thoughts turned to idle speculation on what might lie ahead of me. I was aware of past spectacular successes of the Division Göring, but it was only when writing this book that I discovered that the division had twice before been almost completely wiped out in action. The first time was on the Russian Front in February of 1942, and the second time was as a member of the German Afrika-Corps in May, 1943. A new division was raised over the next two months and went into action in Italy. The Division Göring was involved in bitter fighting on the retreat in Tuscany, even as I was on my way to its training base in Holland.
When the train reached Holland I became very interested in the Dutch countryside and the architecture. I liked the neatness of houses and fields, and the abundance of canals and picturesque windmills. The rest of the train journey passed quickly and I arrived in Utrecht on time. For a trip of some 400 miles this was a remarkable example of the efficiency of the railway system in wartime Germany. After reporting to a staff sergeant in the military section of the station’s administration building, I joined a group of other young recruits with whom I was driven to the barracks by army bus.
The barracks turned out to be a large complex of three-storey buildings surrounding a huge parade-ground and encompassing a number of other open spaces. It had once been a garrison for the Dutch army and was generously laid out. My dormitory was bright and pleasant with a high ceiling. It contained only sixteen beds which made it look sociable, but it was still rather spartan. Apart from a locker beside each bed, the room was furnished with only four tables and chairs. A small notice-board had a timetable pinned to it listing the following day’s activities.
We had a quick wash and went off to the canteen, sitting together since we felt self-conscious in our “civvies” among the soldiers in uniform. The meal was hot and wholesome, if a little plain and for dessert there was fruit preserves and “ersatz” coffee. At this stage conversation began to flow more freely and I was able to get to know a little about my new colleagues.
About one-third of them had been Luftwaffen-auxiliaries before doing Labour Service, so they would have been secondary schoolboys like me. The others were barely out of their basic apprenticeships in technical crafts and other trades. All were cheerful and nobody betrayed any sign of the downheartedness that, I thought, must be lurking somewhere.
I became very conscious that my civilian clothes were now the last tenuous connection with my past. By the next morning I would be in uniform, a faceless number, a nobody, cut off from all my relatives and friends. It was as if I would suddenly become powerless, just as my relatives would lose all power to help me.
That night I slept like a log until I was woken by a shrill bell at seven o’clock. Breakfast consisted of two thick slices of the standard black army bread with a pat of butter, some corned beef and jam as well as “ersatz” coffee. Strangely enough, even though “ersatz” coffee was the standard beverage right through the war and I never really liked it, I also never got tired of it. Maybe it was just its comforting heat that my body appreciated, but this coffee, made of roasted barley, was a far more healthy drink than the real thing.
After breakfast, our corporal, called Berg, marched us to the store to collect our uniforms and kit. The store was an impressive sight; all shelves piled high with every possible item. There was nothing to indicate that this was the fifth year of war, with industries continually being the target of bombing raids and Germany staring defeat in the face on every front.
After the last of us had been fitted out, we were allowed to sling the rifle over our shoulder, pick up our heap and march back to the dormitory under the command of our corporal. This turned out to be very much the pattern of all future activities. Whatever we did, wherever we went, we always seemed to be marching, but this meant that all movements were carried out neatly and efficiently. There was, of course, method behind this, a psychological conditioning to conformity and discipline. A quick change into our uniforms was now required because we were due to assemble on the main parade-ground to hear an address by the garrison commander.
The commander, Colonel von Ludwig, had the reputation of being strict, but he was also just and humane. He did not treat us to a long address. After welcoming us he said that our training would be very tough and rigorous but, as members of the elite Paratroop and Panzer Division Hermann Göring, we must be able to meet higher demands than would be expected of other units. Colonel von Ludwig went on to refer to the past gallant action of our comrades in Russia and in Africa and how they were even now holding their own in Italy despite being outnumbered by British and American forces. When the colonel had finished his address, we marched off to our first class session.
Our lecturer, a lieutenant, explained the training programme to us: it would cover basic practical training, theoretical subjects, training on firearms and, at a later stage, intensive training in a special skill, and in practical manoeuvres. We would also have daily physical fitness sessions.