Basic practical training covered the care of clothing and equipment, and also drill on the parade-ground as well as camouflaged movement over open territory. Theoretical subjects dealt with discipline, ethics, hygiene, codes of behaviour and a whole range of skills required on active service. Training on firearms covered the care and handling of the army rifle, machine-gun and machine-pistol as well as target practice. Training in a special skill could be on heavier weaponry or as a sapper (construction of pontoon bridges, dynamiting and flame-throwing) or in communications. Finally, we would put our learning to the test in large-scale territorial exercises.
After a couple of short breaks in the class-sessions, and time allowed for us to ask questions, we were given a talk on the background of the division’s training schools.
Our lunch break was a full hour. The meal consisted of a kind of Brown-Windsor soup, stew with boiled potatoes and vegetables, followed by tapioca pudding with stewed apples. There was no coffee. Warm meals never varied very much in the army, but the food was always well-prepared and cooked under hygienic conditions. The only complaints I ever had came later when I was on the Russian Front and the food was cold or non-existent, but that was always due to external circumstances.
The afternoon was mainly taken up with some very basic drill on the parade-ground. There was nothing new to me in the marching-in-formation exercises, or rifle-handling, but a much higher standard of perfection was demanded than I had known heretofore.
In our last session we were given more details of the forthcoming training during the rest of the week and we also got a strict lecture on behaviour, deportment, general discipline and matters of personal hygiene.
It had been a long first day and we were all pretty exhausted at the end of it. During this, the second evening in barracks, there was a tendency to split up into groups depending on individual interests. Everybody avoided talking about the war itself and nobody stood out to say that Germany was going to win or that the war must now be seen to be lost. It must have been patently obvious to all of us that, barring a miracle, the tide of fortune could no longer be turned. I could only hope that the war would soon come to an end with a minimum of human suffering and that I would be lucky enough to escape alive.
It was fortunate that everybody was interested in playing cards, which was also a great barrier-breaker. Since we invariably played Skat, a complicated form of Whist, and this only involved three people, it led to good mixing because there were always some two people looking for a third man to join in. I myself never tired of the intricacies of the game.
It seemed strange to me to be sitting there just like any other soldier when I really felt quite out of place in these surroundings. However, I never made any reference to my Anglo-Irish background and spoke only of my previous years in Germany. Actually, right through my army service, I never found out how much my superior officers knew about my earlier life outside Germany or what personal information was kept on the official records.
That evening, our corporal issued us with our identity discs. These were small, oval-shaped, made of light metal and simply bore a letter and a number without any further reference to the owner. A light, strong chord was attached to them and they were worn around the neck. In the case of one’s death, this was the only confirmation of identity and survivors had the gruesome task of taking the discs off their fallen comrades so that the next of kin could be officially notified.
I had one final chore which meant parcelling up my civilian clothes, and all other items that I did not need, for posting back to Mücheln. With that I would be severing the last link with my past life. On impulse I kept a paperback edition of Lord Emsworth and Others, by P. G. Wodehouse, which I had brought along with other reading material. Although my reading days were obviously over for the present, I thought I might as well take along this small book and get enjoyment from it for as long as possible.
Our routine over the next days followed a standard pattern. Outdoor activities and classroom lectures were well mixed to counteract tedium setting in, and on each day we had a forty-five-minute session of physical fitness training, jogging and open-air gymnastics.
The common denominator of all our training could best be described as a ruthless grind to perfection. Nowhere was this more obvious or exasperating than in domestic tidiness. Beds had to look as if they had just come out of a fresh mould, while laundry in the lockers was expected to display virtually razor-sharp edges defying all physical laws. At the daily inspection of quarters, a sergeant-major would hold a ruler along the front edge of the folded laundry and if anything was a fraction out of line, the recruit got a roasting; he was lucky if he did not get the contents of his locker tipped onto the floor. Many a time we had murder in our hearts at such seemingly senseless provocation, but nobody ever demurred and expressions of rage were never vented within earshot of our superiors.
However, this seemed to be standard international practice; the higher the level of training, the higher the degree of this form of human torture. It was as if a soldier’s sense of freedom was being systematically eroded so that he would become fatalistic about all suffering and even death.
I noticed that there was a clear difference between instructors who had seen active service and those who had not. The seasoned campaigners were hard, but humane, and they knew no pettiness. Maybe their approach was at variance with the official line, but it was they who earned our greatest respect.
Towards the end of my training in Holland, I did get indirect confirmation from an officer that I had not lost my pride and I must confess to having cherished the memory of this occurrence with some self-satisfaction. An officer once upbraided me, saying, “You know, Stieber, you salute your superior officers the way an English lord greets his underlings.” He obviously exaggerated, but I do know that I fully intended to hold on to my self-respect while also being committed to becoming a good soldier.
The crotchety behaviour of our instructors did make a lot of sense in the matter of footwear. I recall many a time being exhausted after spending an hour kneading boot-grease into the leather and belabouring my boots with a bottle, in order to make them soft and supple. When he was inspecting our boots, the NCO would drop a sharpened pencil from a height of about two feet onto the front of each boot. If the point of the pencil did not make a clear indentation in the leather, the recruit was in trouble. Of course, the condition of one’s footwear made all the difference between getting blisters or not on long, forced marches and on that could hinge survival. In later months I was often grateful for the skill I had acquired during this long and gruelling drudgery.
During classroom sessions we were lectured in great detail on various aspects of integrity, loyalty, decency, courage and other codes of behaviour, including hygiene. We were expected to be fully committed to the aims and aspirations of the fatherland and to display courage so that we would not let our comrades down.
Getting injured could lead to a court-martial if there was any suspicion that one had done something purposely in order to get out of the combat zone. (A court-martial was a court set up for the trial of military offenders and was composed of officers, none of whom could be of inferior rank to the prisoner). A court-martial also applied if anybody was caught looting, no matter where or how insignificant the items taken or what excuse was given. Theft from the army or from one’s comrades was treated similarly.
Personal hygiene was of paramount importance. To become infested with lice was severely punishable, unless the first signs had been reported to the medical orderly. No excuse for getting VD was accepted, including the claim that one had got it from a public toilet. The penalty for this was a court-martial, because it was considered as serious a charge as that of desertion.