Paratrooper ~ Vol.V
MY WORLD WAR II STORY
April 15, 1942 ~ December 14, 1946
© 1997 by Edward M. Isbell
507th Parachute Infantry Regiment
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Chapter 6
On July 11, we left Alencon on foot. My dysentery was much better, but many others had to stop along the way to relieve themselves. With so many sick it made traveling so slow the Germans rounded up some trucks for us.
When we arrived at Chartres, France, the next day, they stripped us of our clothes as we entered a building and herded us outside naked for most of the day ~ while they searched our clothes and put some type of insecticide on them. We were given our clothes back later that afternoon. It's no wonder it killed the bugs. Our clothes stunk so bad we would rather have lived with the bugs.
It took a while sorting them out. Finding our boots was the hardest. Underwear didn't make that much difference (it was all alike anyway). They placed us in a room that was so small we had a hard time lying down to rest. They only let us go outside once in the four days we were there, and this was on July 15, my 23rd birthday. I know it sounds crazy, but it was the happiest birthday in my life. I received my first Red Cross parcel. The first real food I had seen since England. The cigarettes were just as important. We all acted like children on a Christmas morning.
The best thing that happened to me at Chartres was getting to know a sergeant I called "Slim." Slim was about seven feet tall and came from Alabama. He had lost his squad of 12 men a few days after landing on Omaha Beach. He felt it was his mistake that got them killed, and kept saying over and over, "I wish I had been killed along with them." I don't know what would have happened to me without his help and friendship later.
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We left Chartres on July 16, packed in tractor-trailers. They had no windows or anything to hold on to inside. We traveled all night. One of the men died from sickness and lack of oxygen. There was no way you could bend over, and if you slid down to the floor, you couldn't get up. It was a miserable night.
When we arrived on the outskirts of Paris that morning the doors were opened and the fresh air came rushing in. I can't explain how good it was to get out of the stench and breathe fresh air again.
We were marched through the Arch of Triumph. I believe we were some of the first American POWs to go through the city after the invasion. The streets were lined with people. Some looked friendly and others would kick and spit at us.
When we reached the station the Germans gave us some water, a piece of bread, and some watery soup. After we drank the soup, they herded us inside boxcars. We took turns lying down with our legs interlocking with the man facing us. There was a large crockpot in the middle of the car, about five feet in diameter and three feet deep. This was our toilet. It didn't take long for it to get full. Every time we went around a curve the car swayed, and some of the waste would slosh out. Slim and I were lucky not to have been too close to it.
Small windows about 8"x12" at each end of the car were our only source of air and light. It was hot and stuffy while we were side-tracked in Paris for two days. We stayed thirsty and hungry all the time. Each time the air raid alarm sounded we would hold our breath and pray that the station wouldn't get bombed.
The door was opened only once a day. The Germans would give us some water and bread and check for dead. One day after we left Paris we were on a side track waiting for another train to pass. The toilet pot was running over, so we started passing a cupful at a time down to the men under the window to be thrown out.
We had done this before, but this time a stupid guard was standing under the window and got the first cup on his head. All hell broke loose! He fired shots at the window, then he opened the door and threatened to shoot us all if we didn't tell him who the man was that threw that stuff on him. It wasn't funny at the time, but later we had a good laugh. When it came time for our water and bread that day, we didn't get any, but they did let us empty the pot.
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There were a few prisoners of different nationalities already in the boxcar when we arrived at the station. They were being sent to concentration camps. One was a Frenchmen who lived between Paris and Chalon, France. I don't know how long he had been in the car, but long enough to have started carving an outline of a hole in the back of the car just large enough for a man to squeeze through.
I didn't see the makeshift knife. It couldn't have been more than a small nail or a piece of metal. The men around him would take turns carving day and night trying to get it deep enough without showing from the outside. The Frenchman wanted to be able to knock it out in the vicinity of his home.
Late one night as we were nearing Chalon he knocked the boards out, and guess what? A brake rod about two inches in diameter on the outside of the car was dead center of the hole. That made it impossible to get out. We all felt like crying. Most of us who were able had planned to go out with him. He said he had connection with the French Underground and they would help us.
While working on the railroad in Germany a few months later, I noticed that most of the European cars didn't have the brake rod. It depended on what country they came from.
We were worried about what the Germans were going to do when they found the hole at our next stop. The Frenchman confessed to the guards that he alone had done the carving. Since no one escaped, the Germans didn't get as upset as we had expected. Instead, they made fun about the rod and laughed at the Frenchman's luck as they were turning him over to the Gestapo at the station. We were divided up into other cars for the remainder of the trip. Slim and I managed to stay together.
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Chalon was our next stop, on July 21. After what we had been through the past two weeks, Chalon was much better. The soup had some meat in it and we got plenty of fresh air. The next day we were let out in a courtyard for some sun and fresh air.
Slim looked at me and said, "Do you see what I see?" I couldn't see anything but a weed or some kind of flower. He went over and picked off some large leaves, rolled them up and put them in his shirt. I asked him if they were good to eat. He looked at me and said, "You are from North Carolina and don't know what tobacco is?"
I told him I was raised in the foothills and didn't ever remember seeing any. We took care of those few leaves as if they were pure gold. Every chance we got we would place them in the sun to cure. We made the tobacco last us a long time.
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We left Chalon on July 31. We traveled by train and arrived at our first real POW camp, Stalag XII-A at Limburg, Germany on August 4. It had thousands of prisoners of different nationalities. This was the last time I was interrogated, but not the last time to be searched. The Germans knew more than we did at this time.
They just wanted to know our name, rank, and serial number to get us registered under the Red Cross and have a POW tag (dog tag) made for us. We were given a postal card to write home. Later we were given soup and were told to find a place to stay until time to be shipped out to another camp. They had large tents for the overflow.
Slim and I found a spot close to a large bath and toilet house. My dysentery had returned and was about to get the best of me. With so many prisoners, you still had to stand in line for a long time to use the john. One day I was waiting for a fellow to get off the john. His head was in his hands and I thought he had gone to sleep. I touched him on the shoulder and he fell over dead.
Dysentery took its toll in that camp. Slim and I were there for 20 days. It was the worst camp I had been in. Slim took care of me while I was sick. When a man is so weak he can't take care of himself he doesn't last long under those conditions. In camps where there were different nationalities, there was someone waiting to take what you had (food, clothing etc.). You had to sleep with one eye open. There were some who would do anything for a little food.
All we were getting to eat was soup made with grass and black bread. We had to strain the soup through a piece of cloth in order to remove the dirt. The bread had more sawdust in it than wheat. I was sick for over a week. If it hadn't been for Slim I don't believe I could have made it. He looked after me like a brother. We both learned early how hard it would be to survive in a POW camp without a trusted friend.
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We left Stalag XII-A on August 24 and were shipped by train to Stalag IV-B near Muhlburg, Germany, about 50 miles south of Berlin. We arrived on the 26th of August.
The first thing we had to do after arriving was remove all our clothing. About 12 of us at a time were made to go down some steps to the basement of a building for showers. They had to force us because we had heard about showers that were gas chambers. We were very much relieved when water came out instead of gas.
Our clothes were deloused, we were given two shots in the chest for something, and we were shaved--all over! We may not have looked like much, but for the first time since being captured we felt like human beings and not animals. I would like to have the photos they took of me at Stalag XII-A and IV-B. No, I didn't look like the FBI's most wanted, but more like a plucked chicken.
This was a British NCO (non-commissioned officers) camp. According to the Geneva Convention, officers and NCOs were not made to work except to keep their own quarters and camp clean. I believe our group was the first Americans to be sent to IV-B other than some American airmen.
The camp was divided into three compounds. The largest was for the British. Most of them had been captured early in the war. Some had been POWs for three years or more. My friend, Chick Morgan, a British paratrooper, was captured in North Africa. He was held in Italy. When Italy surrendered, they shipped him to Germany. When we met he was going on his third year as a POW. The Americans were put in the British compound.
Slim and I were the only Americans in our hut. The rest were British. Chick became a close friend to Slim and me. All the British fellows were OK. The largest compound was for British and American soldiers. The next largest compound was for the Russians. The Russians were not covered under the Geneva Convention and were used as slave laborers. The smallest compound was for the British and American airmen.
You were not allowed to go into another section without permission from camp headquarters. All sections were enclosed by barbed-wire fences. The entire camp was also enclosed with three fences with dogs between the two outside fences. Guards with machine guns were located in towers about every hundred yards, covering all the areas of the fences.
The inside fence had a single strand of wire about four feet from the fence and two feet high from the ground. This wire was called a trip wire. If at any time you touched or stepped over it the guards would shoot at you from the towers.
We couldn't believe how well the British had been living in this camp. They had been getting a Red Cross parcel per man each week. They also got food, clothes and cigarettes from home. Food from the Germans was slipped to the Russians.
They had a theater for putting on plays, a library, soccer field, rugby field, and a stock market where you could see the value of food each day. The value of everything was based on cigarettes. They could buy you most anything except freedom. To top it off, the British POWs had dug a swimming pool that was about 50’ x 100’ in size. It had not been used in two years because of a water shortage.
We had appeal (roll call) each morning about six o'clock. Most every morning someone was late. After we were accounted for, everyone was dismissed except the ones who were late. They had to stand on one foot for a period of time. You were allowed to switch feet, but if the guards saw you with both feet on the ground at the same time they would take a shot at your feet.
I don't think they were trying to hit them, but that's what made it so dangerous. You couldn't trust their accuracy, especially if they were using wooden bullets as they often did. I had my turn one cold morning and I made sure not to be late again. After roll call, Slim, Chick and I would go back to the hut for a little tea or coffee and cracker.
After we had helped clean the hut, we would go to the market to see how things were selling. Then we walked around the compound several times for exercise. We did this many times a day. We watched ball games, sat around and talked about the war, and our lives back home. We slept a lot to help pass the time away. Some nights they would let two or three huts go to the theater for a comedy or singing show (supervised by the guards). I remember one night we had a magician from India. He was very good.
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I don't mean to paint a rosy picture of IV-B because it was still a POW camp with lice and fleas, and the food was getting shorter by the day. You never knew from one minute to the next what was going to happen. There were some wild strawberries growing between two fences. A British fellow was trying to reach them through the fence and was killed.
Russians were expendable and many were killed while I was there. A Russian working party was passing our hut late one afternoon. I waited until the guard had gone by and handed the last man some potato peelings. At the same instant the guard turned his head and saw what had happened. He stepped aside and when the Russian got even with him, he hit the Russian on the head so hard it broke his rifle stock.
I felt bad about that, but we had given the Russians a little food many times before with no trouble. I remember seeing a Russian trying to reach a few cigarettes under a fence that a fellow had put in a small box and thrown to him, but they had fallen short. When he tried to retrieve them on the other side of the trip wire, he was shot first in the arm and then in the head.
The Germans were always looking for tunnels and ways that we might be trying to escape. They got stricter each day as the camp increased in number.
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The men in the Air Force compound had managed to put together a radio. The Germans knew they had one, but never could locate it even though they searched the compound most every day. This was just one of the things that kept the Germans going in circles. The airmen had it broken down into parts and distributed among the men. They would assemble it once or twice a week to catch the BBC news.
It wasn't much trouble for some of the British soldiers who had been there for a long time, to get a pass to enter the airmen's compound to see friends or relatives, but the airmen were not allowed to leave their compound at any time. I got to know one of the fellows in our hut. His first name was Jimmy, but I don't remember his last name. He walked the compound every day with Slim, Chick and me. Jimmy had a cousin in the airmen's compound who was a gunner on a bomber that had gone down early in the war. Jimmy would visit his cousin most every day and often I went with him.
During the week at night, not knowing when, we would be awakened to have the BBC news read to us. We looked forward to this as much as anything else. Men would risk their lives relaying the news from hut to hut. Each hut would have a volunteer to take it to the next hut. If you were caught outside of your hut after dark the Germans considered it trying to escape and would shoot you. No one was caught while I was there, but there were some close calls.
One day as we were walking around the compound, we heard a commotion coming from one of the bath houses, so we went to see what was going on. A British fellow had been thrown into a large concrete cesspool. Each time he tried to climb out the men around the open area would kick him back. He was just about drowned by the time he was pulled out. That was one of the ways the POWs had for punishing a thief or collaborator. The Germans wouldn't interfere in things of this nature. They would just look the other way.
One thing the German army didn't condone was stealing. They might mistreat or even kill you, but I never heard of one stealing. Of course they weren't starving to death, and that was a big difference. Food was life or death, and your body and your mind craved it 24 hours a day. Some went to extremes to get the things they needed by taking from others.
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Things were changing fast at IV-B. Food was getting short. More POWs were arriving every day. The warehouse had no Red Cross parcels and the Germans had cut our rations down to a few potatoes, a small piece of bread and occasionally some cheese.
Sickness of all kinds began to increase. Morale was getting low. The length of time spent as a POW was not as important as where you were and how you were treated. Those who worked on farms fared better than others who worked in ammunition plants, oil refineries, railroads, hospitals, etc. The camps were so crowded the last months of the war that many died from malnutrition and other complications.
Most of the soldiers who were captured during the Battle of the Bulge in December of 1944 didn't ever see a POW camp. The Germans had no place to keep them. Food was just about a thing of the past even for their own army. The POWs were kept on the move, going from barns to fields trying to keep from freezing in zero weather. These fellows suffered more those four months than some who had been captives for months or years. The winter of 1944 was the coldest winter on record in Europe. I've often wondered how any of the POWs survived under these conditions ~ and the torture of the POWs under the Japanese.
It was early December that Slim and I started talking about the condition the camp was getting in and how many were going to die from lack of food and care. Escape was impossible from this camp. We talked about trying to get on a working commando where the chances of escape were better and we wouldn't end up starving or dying with dysentery.
On a working commando you never knew where you were going or what you would be doing. Your chances of being bombed or strafed by our forces was much greater and so was being mistreated by the SS troops or civilians. The civilians didn't care much for us, especially just after a bombing raid.
I know it sounds odd when I tell someone I volunteered to work for the enemy. I can assure you that POWs caused more trouble and did more harm to the enemy than they did good while working. After talking it over, Slim and I went to the camp office and asked to be placed on the list for a working commando party. Since both of us were NCO's we didn't think it would work, but it did.
On Dec. 11, 1944, they told us we would be leaving the next morning. This gave us time to say goodbye to all our friends. We were up early waiting on the trucks to take us to the railroad station.
For some reason Slim and I got separated as we were getting on the trucks. I asked a guard if we were all going to the same place. He didn't know where we were going, but thought we were all headed for the same destination. I didn't see Slim at the station, so I assumed he was in another boxcar. We never saw each other again.
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Chapter 7
I remember the train ride so well. The 50 of us, plus two guards, were riding in a "40 & 8" boxcar (40 men or 8 horses). It started snowing and the guards sitting on each side of the door looked like snowmen with their heavy coats covered with snow that was blowing through the open door. I guess they were afraid some of us might jump out as the train slowed down at times. They also felt safer not being closed up with us in the dark.
We were trying to keep warm by getting close together, which wasn't a problem in our crowded condition. Late that afternoon, December 12, we arrived at our destination. We were met at the station by a very handsome young German officer and some soldiers who were to be our guards. The officer had an artificial right leg and could speak broken English. We also had a British POW along with us as an interpreter.
The German officer told us we were at Schwarzenberg, Germany, and we were to be on an arbeit kommando (working group) attached to Stalag IV-F. We would be working on about 125 miles of railroad track from Prague, Czechoslovakia, to Swickau, Germany.
As we stood there tired, cold and hungry, he told us he was our commander and we would be punished severely if we didn't obey orders. He warned us about any kind of sabotage or fraternizing with the civilians. After we got to our quarters he went over a list of things that were posted on the wall in English that we could not do.
He told us that he had to make a good showing or he would be sent back to the Russian front where he had lost his leg. He said he was a good soldier and belonged to the Nazi Party ~ and Hitler was his God! He went on to say that if Hitler told him to kill his mother, whom he loved very much, he would do so without hesitation.
He said the guards had orders to shoot to kill anyone trying to escape. He assured us that if there was an escape the rest of us would suffer before he was transferred back to the Russian front. It wasn't long before we began calling him "Wooden Leg."
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Schwarzenberg was a beautiful small town located near the Czechoslovak border in southeast Germany. I was surprised that the 50 of us were the only POWs on the train. I asked about the others that I thought were supposed to have been part of our commando. One of the guards who came with us said he thought they were sent to an oil refinery in Leipzig. He told me that only 50 men were in our kommando and our new camp was Stalag IV-F at Hartmannsdorf, Germany, which was about 20 miles from Schwarzenberg.
We found out later that if you had to go on sick call or needed a doctor you had to walk the 20 miles ~ if you were able to. The ones who went to IV-F on sick call came back with stories and bruises on their bodies showing how they were mistreated by the doctor and staff. I was lucky I never had to go. The doctor was executed at the end of the war.
There were 49 Americans and one Briton, who was the interpreter for our group. Our building had two stories and was backed up against a mountain. The first floor was a tavern. The top floor was used at one time for town meetings, clubs, etc. It had one large room with a stage. This was our sleeping quarters. We had double bunks with no mattresses, but we did have blankets. There was a locker for each man, and a large stove. A hall led from our room to the stairs, a bath, and kitchen with a large pantry.
The guards' quarters were closed off from our room with French doors and a door to the hall. There was another room between the bath and guards' quarters that we used to keep our Red Cross parcels and any other food we could round up. This room was kept locked at all times, except in the evening when they would let us go through and get just enough for our evening meal. This kept us from storing up enough food to escape.
If we wanted to take a can out of the room they punched holes in it before we left the room. The raw meat that was used to make soup was hung up in the pantry. This sounds as if we had plenty to eat, but really we didn't. When we first got there, we got one or two parcels a month and the German ration was OK.
We got up at daylight and ate a small piece of bread with hot tea or coffee. For lunch we had soup, bread and water. For supper a small piece of bread, potatoes, tea, a small amount of sugar, and a little salt. This was the German ration.
At times we may have had a few things from Red Cross parcels. I don't know if the German ration would have been more or not if the POWs were not getting the parcels. I don't believe it would have been because they didn't have much to give. This was the diet that kept us going for 24 hours, 12 of which we worked outside regardless of the weather.
We took turns working at night keeping snow and ice off the switches in the railroad yard. Our clothes were light, as we had only what we were wearing when we left England. Some of us did receive a sweater and a pair of shoes while in 4-B, that the British provided for us.
Our boots didn't last long after we were captured. I received a pair of British military shoes while at IV-B, but the soles didn't last long and they replaced the soles with wood about an inch thick.
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The cold weather was tough. It often was below zero. We had a shack at the station, with a round metal stove, where they let us warm our feet a few minutes each hour. Our feet and legs stayed numb during the cold months. On Sundays, if we were lucky enough not to be on duty, the feeling in our feet and legs would start to come back and they would start aching.
It didn't stay very warm in our room. We got one bucket of coal each night and on Sunday two buckets, depending on the weather. I thought the cold weather was normal for that country, but learned later that it was one of the coldest winters on record for Europe.
It was no wonder that the railroad men despised us. We were always doing something to foul things up, such as breaking pick and shovel handles, or acting as if we were stupid and didn't understand what they wanted us to do. There were small rail cars that we used around the station for carrying tools, gravel, and other things we needed for the job. They were powered by two men pumping a pull car.
One day we were up the mountain from the station replacing some rails and cross-ties. The cars were loaded with gravel that was used to tamp under the cross-ties with a pick. This was a job that would kill your back, and I always tried to find something else to do.
One of the fellows and I were operating the small train to place gravel where it was needed. Something happened to the brakes. After it got rolling we jumped off. It rolled down the mountain until it got to the first curve and over the edge it went. Well, all we could do was just stand there and watch.
There were two railroad men and two guards with us. and you would have thought we had killed Hitler by the way they acted. Some of the fellows started laughing and that really made them mad. The two railroad men started throwing rocks at us. We ran down the mountain and wouldn't come back until the guards made them stop. The railroad officer that I hated so much pulled his pistol and threatened to shoot us, but he slapped me in the mouth with it instead.
When we got back to camp that evening the guards told Wooden Leg about the event. He wanted to know why we let the cars get away. We tried to tell him the brakes failed, and we had no choice but to let go. I guess those cars are still at the bottom of the mountain in little pieces.
One morning a passenger train got switched to a dead-end track and ran into the station. A few people were injured in the crash. I was nearby at the time and saw a Russian POW going up a road as hard as he could travel in the snow. He had thrown a switch that put the train on a side track. He must have come from a group of Russians that were working on a nearby farm.
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There were days when some of our group would go to Johanngeorgenstadt, Czechoslovakia, to clear the station of snow. We would shovel the snow and load it on flatbed cars to dump down the side of the mountain. I remember it as being one of those days you wished you had not been born. The snow and sleet were coming down so hard it was difficult to see anything a few yards ahead.
We had the cars loaded for the last dump of the day. At one end of our car there were two of us and a guard was at the other end. Before we got to the place where we had been dumping the snow, I realized my friend was gone. I didn't know if he had fallen off or what had happened to him. The wind was blowing sleet and snow in my face so hard I couldn't hear or see anything.
Just before we stopped to dump the snow he showed up. I yelled to him that I thought he had fallen off the car. It was hard for us to see each other, but I thought I saw a grin on his face when he gave me the OK sign with his hand. Our bodies were so cold it was hard for us to move, so I guess I just thought he grinned. As we were unloading I saw tracks going across the snow on our car, but didn't give it much thought at the time.
I looked around for the guard, but didn't see him. Most of the time they would go to the engine where it was warm. When we returned to the station we found out the guard was missing. They asked us if we remembered seeing him while unloading the snow. No one would have owned up to it even if they had. My friend looked at me and said, "I hope the poor bastard didn't fall between the cars."
We had to go back and look for him. It was no trouble finding what was left. The snow was having a hard time covering up the bloodstain. It seemed to be coming to the top of the new snow. We gathered up his remains and his rifle and returned to the station. I remember waiting for the train to take us back to Schwarzenberg and thinking about what was going to happen about the guard's death.
Luck was with us. They didn't blame us for the guard's death. They thought the guard slipped and fell between the cars during the storm. This very well could have been the case. My friend never said anything about where he was when I missed him. This was the only guard that was giving us trouble. Most of them were older men and treated us very well. We had some railroad men that we hated with passion. There were many times I would have liked to have had the chance to push one of them down between the cars.
I found out later that this was about the time of the German break-through in Belgium, (19th of December). The 101st Airborne Division was surrounded at Bastogne and the Germans demanded their surrender. The reply by the commanding officer ~ General Anthony G. McAuliffe ~ was, "Nuts." The Germans didn't understand what "Nuts" meant until someone in their headquarters told the generals that it was slang for "go to hell."
Finally, the weather cleared enough for the Air Force to help. Patton's 3rd Army marched two days to reach them. Assistance came from the 82nd and 17th Airborne divisions, along with other divisions. The battle lasted about 10 days. The American army suffered 81,000 casualties, of which 19,000 were killed during the Battle of the Bulge. If the Germans had been successful in the drive, it would have prolonged the war many months.
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For Christmas, the Germans let us have a tree. We made the decorations from anything we could find, little trinkets made from our food cans, tinfoil from cigarette packs, etc. It turned out to be a beautiful tree after it was decorated.
A few days before Christmas the Germans gave us some parcels that had been sent to other American POWs from their families. These men had been killed in a bombing at Leipzig. There was one parcel for every two men. I have wished many times I could have told the people how much the parcels meant to us.
I shared one with a fellow paratrooper that I had teamed up with as a partner when we first arrived at Schwarzenberg. He was George Smudin from Pennsylvania and had been a coal miner before the war. He had been shot several times, one of which was in the hand. It was causing his fingers to draw back, and he was in pain most all the time.
The Germans wouldn't or couldn't do anything for him. Dead Germans were the only good ones to him. We got along real well as partners. POW partners looked after each other and shared what little they had. I don't remember all the parcel contained. It had some cookies, candy, cigarettes, etc. The one thing I do remember was a pair of silk pajamas and some socks. Smudin and I took turns each week wearing the PJs. They were so warm we wouldn't take them off except when we took a bath.
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At night we would lie in our bunks and listen to the bombers going to Berlin or other targets nearby. Most of the time there were some that got damaged by flak and were trying to get back home. It was a lonely sound, it reminded me of a train whistle at night. If they got hit before reaching their target they had to unload their bombs while in hostile country.
One night we could hear one that was crippled struggling to make it back. They must have seen a light below and dropped their load, two of which hit close to our building. One of our fellows was Polish-American (we called him Polock). He had a big mouth and was always carrying on about how brave he was and how he wasn't going to the basement every time the air raid alarm sounded. His mouth was never shut except when he was asleep.
When the bombs hit nearby that night, he came off his top bunk so fast he broke his arm. The next morning a guard had to take him to the doctor at IV-F. They were lucky to get a ride in an army truck and not have to walk. From then on, he was the first one to the shelter when the alarm sounded. It didn't stop him from aggravating everyone.
We were on our way to the station early one morning. The streets were covered with ice as always and those of us who had wooden shoes kept falling down. Polock fell several times. He got so mad he wouldn't get up. The guards threatened to shoot him, but he just sat there freezing his tail on the ice. We were about to freeze standing there waiting for him to get up.
A guard went to a house and got a rope and tied Polock's ankles together. We pulled him like a sled to the station. We enjoyed pulling him over the rough spots. The streets were cobblestone and were covered with ice. When we came to a railroad crossing that had been cleared of ice and snow, you could hear him cuss and carry on for miles.
There was something going on all the time, most of which is not worth writing about even if I could remember it all. I guess things like that kept us going.
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A small cup of soup and a piece of bread was not enough lunch, so we decided to go on a strike. When Wooden Leg and the guard came in to get us up for the roll count, we wouldn’t get off our bunks. He and the guard kept yelling, "rouse! rouse!" (move fast, get going). He pulled one of the fellows from a top bunk and started beating him on the head. We didn't waste any time getting in line for the count.
By that time all the guards had come in with bayonets fixed and ready for action. I told the men we had lost and had better give it up before someone got hurt. Wooden Leg looked at me and said, "You are the cause of this." He grabbed a rifle from a guard and tried to hit me with it, but I stepped back just in time. We went out to work without eating that morning.
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Someone was always planning to escape and the Germans always found out about it. We didn't know how they were finding out. Early in February, Smudin, Polock, Horton, two others (whose names I don't remember), and I planned to escape. The six of us were very careful not to let anyone know about our plan.
I remember the night so well. I was assigned the job of getting a shoe last (a foot-shaped piece of metal mounted on a steel bar protruding from a round wooden stand) from the guards' quarters to repair my shoes. The guards had some girls in their quarters that night. They were drinking and having a good time. When the guard came to the door, I told him I needed to repair my shoes and needed the shoe last. To my surprise they offered me a drink. If it had been something to eat, I would have jumped at it, but they didn't have much more food than we did.
I was wearing the silk PJs and one of the girls kept feeling the material and saying how nice they were and how she would like to have a pair like them. I sat there trying to smile and all the time wanting to get out. Fraternizing with German girls could cost you your life. They were laughing and making jokes about Americans, and could see that I was nervous. I couldn't understand most of what was being said and didn't care. They gave me the shoe last with orders to return it that night.
We used the shoe last to spread the bars on the kitchen window and I returned it to guards. We didn't trust our British interpreter. There was no proof that he was the one who had been snitching to the Germans, but he got along too well with them and got to stay in camp a lot when the weather was bad. We gagged and tied his hands and feet trying not to hurt him. We hid him in the kitchen behind the stove.
As I mentioned before, the building was backed up to a cliff much taller than the building. There was very little room between them. Just after we came to Schwarzenberg some of the fellows had to do some patchwork on the roof.
They got a good look at the cliff and the surrounding area and knew there were terraces cut to keep rocks and snow from falling down between the building and cliff. One of these terraces was directly across from our kitchen window. We had removed a board from the stage a few days before and had it ready. It was 12" wide and long enough to reach from the window ledge to the terrace.
A rope had been taken from the machine shop and brought from work in the bottom of our drink and soup cooler. One man tied the rope around his waist just in case the board broke. He managed to get across and secure the rope. One man at a time went across until we were all on the ledge.
A fellow who didn't want to go with us, but whom we trusted, helped by untying the rope. We used it later in getting down the mountain. He also kept check on the interpreter. If it hadn't been for the ice and snow it wouldn't have been so bad, but that made it slow going.
Our plans were to split up into pairs before catching a freight train that we knew came through Schwarzenberg about 1 o'clock going to Prague. It was no trouble getting on the train. It was loaded and moving slowly up the mountain.
We had to stay out of sight because it was obvious we were POWs. We planned to get back together at a hut the railroad had along the tracks to store tools and equipment. All of us were familiar with this hut. It wasn't a safe place, but at least we wouldn't freeze to death. The six of us were there before daylight.
We tried to get some sleep bunched together for warmth. That night we split up again to look for something that would float us down the river, but didn't have any luck. We knew they would be looking for us around Praueu and would check all the shacks from there to Schwarzenberg.
After getting back together we found an old barn near the river where we could stay and feel safe. It was much warmer than the railroad shack. We were not sure just what to do without a boat. Making a raft was out of the question. We spent most of our time trying to find food and keeping warm the first and second day.
The third night we all started out together, staying close to the river. A group of German youth on patrol spotted us and brought soldiers to recapture us. I thought they were going to kill us by the way they acted. After working us over with their rifle butts and pushing us around, they asked us what stalag we had escaped from.
Polock said, "Fort Bragg, NC." I had to open my big mouth and said, "Hell no! Fort Benning, GA." I didn't get the words out of my mouth before I hit the ground from a rifle butt across my back. That kraut understood English. They knew all the time where we came from. We were held that night in a building and were put on a train back to Schwarzenberg the next morning.
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Old Wooden Leg was waiting for us at the station when we arrived. He was so mad that he could hardly speak. He told us they would send him back to the Russian front for what we had done. He placed the blame on me and struck me with his fist.
He was hoping I would try to fight back so he could have me shot. I was put in a small room in the cellar with one blanket and a candle. Once a day I received bread and water. If it had not been for a guard named Paul Wagner who slipped me food and water when he had the chance, I don't think I would have lasted much longer in that damp cold place.
I received a letter from Wagner in 1947, wishing me a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. In 1948, I received another letter from a guard, Oskar Weissflog, asking me to write him. They both were living in the Russian Zone. I regretted later that I didn't send them a parcel, or at least write to them, but at that time I was having a hard time trying to forget those days and everyone that I was involved with.
It never was clear to me just what happened while I was in the cellar. The SS that came to investigate the escape just about killed the other five. Polock and the other two were in such bad shape they were taken back to Stalag IV-F for treatment. Smudin and Horton still had signs of the beating when I got out of the cellar about a week later.
I don't know if the SS knew about me being in the cellar or not. Old Wooden Leg must have told them something for them to leave me alone. I'm sure they knew there were six of us that escaped. The Germans shipped the British interpreter out the day of the escape for his own safety. We never found out if the interpreter was German or just working with them to get better treatment.
Old Wooden Leg was shipped out a week later when the new commander arrived. The new German commander brought me out of the cellar the first day he was there. It took me a long time to get my weight and strength back after that ordeal.
I must confess, even if we had been able to find a boat or something to float down the river as we had planned, we wouldn't have reached the Russian lines. The river was not the Elbe, but the Vitavce. It would have carried us back into Germany. The Elbe was east of Prague about 20 miles or so and ran south and eastward. We didn't have a map and were going on what had been told us by an old guard who we trusted.
After I got out of the cellar, he asked me where we had been caught. I told him on the Elbe river, which ran through Prague. That's when he told me that we were on the wrong river and I must have misunderstood him. Vitavce was a tributary of the Elbe. If he hadn't told me this, we never would have known the difference. The old man was about 70 years old. We called him Pops. After the escape, Pops was assigned to guard me any time I was out working.
Our new commander told us that he didn't want any trouble and he would see that we were treated as soldiers and with respect. He turned out to be OK.
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