Camp 30 (6 page)

“What did he say to Mom there at the end?” I whispered to Jack.

“Don't you remember any of the German you were taught when you were a kid?”

“I was a lot younger than you when our grandparents died,” I reminded him. Our mother's parents had lived with us for the last years of their lives and taught Jack and
me some German. Jack couldn't really speak more than a few words, but he seemed to understand it pretty well. As for me, people had to speak really, really slowly for me to understand anything at all.

“I was unaware that you spoke German,” Colonel Armstrong said to Mom.

“I'm afraid it's rather a limited, rudimentary German.”

“It sounded very good to me. I also speak German,” he said.

“Armstrong is hardly a German name.”

“I studied German and French in school. I always loved languages, although it appears to have worked against me in this instance.” He paused. “I think if it were not for my fluency in German I'd be serving elsewhere, perhaps even in the European theatre, rather than being in charge of a prisoner-of-war camp. But enough of my complaining. Let's resume the tour.”

We continued along the path.

“Judging from the condition of the buildings, I assume that this property predates the war,” my mother said to the colonel.

“By more than a decade. This was originally built in 1929 as a training school for delinquent boys. Young men who were runaways or in trouble with the law were brought here to be reformed, trained and educated to become productive members of society. It was converted to its present use when it became obvious that we
needed more sites to house prisoners. The first P.O.W.s arrived here last fall.”

Colonel Armstrong turned down the sidewalk leading to one of the buildings. He opened the door, and as I stepped inside I was hit with a wave of hot, steamy air. Voices echoed off the walls of the corridor that stretched out in front of us. Both Jack and I stopped just inside the door, and Colonel Armstrong took the lead again.

“The playing fields are popular, but I think this building gets the most use.”

He pushed open another door, and as I walked through I stopped dead in my tracks. It was a swimming pool … an indoor swimming pool.

“There is often a water polo match going on—very rough game,” Colonel Armstrong said. “This is one of the few heated, indoor swimming pools around. It has a deep end suitable for diving and, as you can see, lanes for races. In fact, the prisoners recently had a swim meet— they called it the Aquatic Olympic Games. They had all manner of races. Their teams were divided into three groups.”

“Army, air force and navy?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, and he gave me a questioning look. “How did you know that?”

“I figured it was just like the soccer teams. One of the prisoners said something to us through the fence when we were watching the game.”

“That's not allowed,” the colonel said.

“I'm sorry, we didn't know.”

“But my guards certainly should. Didn't they notice?”

“Almost right away,” Jack said. “The man just said a few sentences to us before the guard noticed and he made us leave.”

“Better late than never, I suppose.”

“Did the navy team win the Olympics?” I asked. I was curious, but more to the point I wanted to change the subject.

“In a landslide … or should I say a tidal wave?” Colonel Armstrong joked. “A couple of the army officers had been taking swimming lessons prior to the Olympics, but apparently the lessons hadn't gone very far.”

At that instant, one of the men frolicking in the pool dived to the bottom, revealing a very white, very bare bottom! A second did the same, revealing his behind! The men in the pool weren't wearing bathing suits!

My mother gave a little gasp, then a giggle and turned and headed for the door. We hurried after her.

“My apologies!” Colonel Armstrong gushed. “I had no idea!”

“I'm sure you didn't.”

“Believe me, they all had bathing suits on for the Olympics,” he insisted.

Outside, the summer heat seemed almost cool in comparison to the steamy heat of the pool area.

The colonel looked at his watch. “It's almost time for the second lunch seating. Come.”

We continued along the path. German prisoners, alone or in groups, seemed to be everywhere. Those that passed right by us invariably saluted. Some remained frozen-faced, but others smiled or waved or said a few words in passing—almost always in English.

“That building to our left houses the gymnasium. Fully equipped.”

“And tennis courts, there are tennis courts,” I said, pointing behind the gym building.

“Last winter the prisoners flooded the tennis courts and turned them into an ice rink. Some of them have really taken to hockey,” Colonel Armstrong told us.

Up ahead there were prisoners streaming out through a big double door and down a set of stairs. They moved aside as we started to climb the stairs. Prisoners—all in German uniforms—saluted as we walked by.

We entered a large, open room filled with dozens of long wooden tables. Many of the seats were now empty, while others were still occupied by prisoners finishing lunch. The colonel led us to a table at the very front. Unlike the others, this one had a clean white tablecloth. There were only two men still eating at the table, which was large enough for ten. I realized that I knew one of them—the man from the fence.

“
Guten Tag,
gentlemen,” Colonel Armstrong called out.

The men rose to their feet and bowed slightly from the waist. There was no exchange of salutes, and I got the feeling that they had risen more as a courtesy to my mother than because of the colonel's rank.

“I would like to introduce the commander of the compound. Field Marshal Schmidt, this is my new assistant, Mrs. Braun, and these are her two children, Jack and George.”

He extended his hand and shook all of ours.

“And this is Captain Kretschmer.”

“I have already had the pleasure of meeting the two young men,” Kretschmer said.

“Through the fence,” Jack added. “This is the man we talked to.”

“Although,” Captain Kretschmer continued, “we were not formally introduced. If I had known that you were bringing guests, I would have altered my schedule and eaten with the second shift. It is always of great pleasure to meet and have conversation with new people.”

“Perhaps another day,” Colonel Armstrong said.

“That would be a pleasure. Especially to share discussion with two young people. We are not often granted that opportunity.”

“You have children … is it three?” Colonel Armstrong asked.

Captain Kretschmer smiled, a sad smile. “Two boys and a girl. I have a recent picture of them and my wife
in my room. It came in the mail.”

“How long has it been since you saw your family?” my mother asked.

“Two years, eight months and seven days,” he said. “A lifetime ago.”

I couldn't help thinking how long it had been since we'd seen our father.

It had been almost two years since he'd left, and we'd sent him a new picture of us only a few weeks ago. Strange, I'd never even thought of Nazis having families, so I'd obviously never thought of them missing them.

“And speaking of mail, Colonel Armstrong, we were very distressed that there was no mail call yesterday.”

“That was unfortunate. I'm most certain there will be mail today.”

“Most certain? Which is to say not completely certain?” Captain Kretschmer asked.

“There are some things that remain beyond my control.”

“Mail call is the highlight of our days,” Captain Kretschmer said. “It is the only link we have with those we left behind … the only way we have of knowing that they are well.”

“I understand the importance,” Colonel Armstrong said. “Perhaps we could meet later on today to discuss the matter further.”

“I look forward to that discussion. And I hope to have an opportunity to have further conversation with our
young guests at some time in the future. It would bring me a little closer to my boys,” Captain Kretschmer said. “But for now I must vacate my seat to allow other officers the chance to dine. It was a pleasure,” he said as he stood up. The field marshal, who hadn't said a word, bowed slightly and then left.

“I was wondering about your arm,” the captain said, pointing to Jack's cast. “How did you injure it?”

“A car accident,” Jack said. “The cast is coming off really soon though.”

“Perhaps then you and your brother will come to play in our gymnasium. We have basketball, volleyball and other games. You boys are welcome to come and use our facilities … if that meets with the colonel's approval.”

“I see no reason why not,” Colonel Armstrong said.

I could think of a few reasons—like more than six hundred German prisoners' worth of reasons.

“Good day.” The captain bowed gracefully from the waist and then walked away, leaving the four of us sitting at the table.

“The first gentleman, Field Marshal Schmidt, is the highest-ranking officer in the camp,” Colonel Armstrong explained. “In fact, he is one of the highest-ranking German officers captured in the war. And Captain Kretschmer is, without a doubt, the most decorated German who has been taken prisoner.”

“He's in the navy, right?” I asked.

“Yes. He captained U-boat 99.”

“I don't know why, but I think I've heard of that,” Jack said.

“I'm sure that you have—possibly from the newsreels. With Captain Kretschmer at its helm, it sank more Allied ships than any other German submarine. They call him the Wolf of the North Atlantic. He was personally decorated by Hitler on two occasions and is reported to be his favourite commander.”

“But he seems so nice,” I said.

“He is very nice. An officer and a gentleman.”

“But he's a Nazi!” Jack protested.

“Please,” Colonel Armstrong hissed. “We try not to use such terms … especially while we are sitting among more than six hundred German prisoners.”

“Sorry,” Jack said.

“In fact there are no Nazis housed in this compound.”

That was what the old man in the store had told us, but I was still having trouble believing it.

“These are all military men, many of them career soldiers. They battled in the name of their country. They fought with integrity and honour. Many have, in private conversations, also voiced their disagreement with the tactics of the Nazi party and are offended by the actions of those in charge.” He paused. “Of course, those things are said only in private and are not to be repeated.
Almost all have family remaining in Germany. To speak out against Hitler, or even hint at disagreement, would mean the death of those family members.”

“How awful,” my mother said.

“The most fanatic Nazis, members of the S.S., kill without thought. Old people, women, even children.”

“It's hard to believe that there are people like that in this world,” my mother said.

Jack looked over at me. Neither of us had any trouble believing it.

“Enough of this talk,” Colonel Armstrong said. “Let's enjoy our lunch. Today it's pork roast, with gravy, potatoes and cabbage. Their cooks are very good, and I'm sure everybody will find the food to their liking.”

“Could I ask you a question?” Jack said.

“Go on,” Colonel Armstrong replied.

“I was just wondering about everything … everything here. It's all so fancy. It just seems like they have nothing but the best. And they're our prisoners.”

“It does seem a little odd,” Colonel Armstrong agreed. “I wouldn't imagine that either of you boys—perhaps even your mother—is familiar with a document called the Geneva Convention.”

The old shopkeeper had mentioned that too.

“I've heard of it,” Jack said, “but I'm not really sure what it is.”

Both my mother and I shook our heads.

“It's an agreement between the countries of the world governing how captured soldiers are to be treated.”

“And they're supposed to be treated like this?” Jack asked in amazement.

“They are to be properly housed, fed, given medical attention, allowed contact with family through mail, interviewed by the Red Cross and not subjected to physical punishment or torture.”

“And the Nazis agree to all this too?” Jack asked. “Are our prisoners in Germany treated like this?”

“Not up to these standards,” Colonel Armstrong said, “but that is because we hold
higher
standards. We are fighting a war to uphold the principles of integrity, democracy, fairness and the rights of the individual. It would be hypocritical of us not to treat their prisoners in a manner we believe to be fair and just.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Jack agreed.

“And by treating their prisoners well, we hope to persuade them to make attempts at fair treatment for our men who have been captured.”

I thought about our father once more—his being captured or killed was a fear we lived with constantly. We waited for his letters confirming his safety the way Captain Kretschmer and the prisoners here waited for mail from their loved ones. I wanted to go straight home and write to our dad.

“There is also one other motive for the conditions we provide here,” Colonel Armstrong said quietly. “By providing for their needs, we hope to discourage these men from making any serious effort to escape. We hope they will be reasonably content to sit out the war here.”

“But people
do
try to escape,” I said. “We heard about the laundry truck.”

“Is there anything you two haven't heard about?” He paused. “Escape attempts are inevitable. It is the duty of all prisoners of war to attempt to escape. Thus far no one has been successful. Yet, as sure as I'm sitting here, some prisoners will continue to try to fulfil their duty. And I will fulfil my duty by stopping them.”