Hitler's British Slaves (21 page)

Socks also began to disintegrate. Many prisoners found their socks were darned so many times as to be unrecognizable from their original state. Once stocks of wool were exhausted and their socks were beyond repair the men were forced to improvise. In place of socks they were given
fusslappen
, strips of cloth which they wrapped around their feet, ‘Russian Style’. If these were not available they simply bound their feet in rags or newspapers. To remedy this situation some men on working parties searched for any abandoned woollen articles which they took back to camp, unravelled and used for darning. Knitting needles and crochet hooks were improvised from the handles of worn out toothbrushes and those with a knowledge of crafts were able to make themselves clothes and blankets. This spirit of improvisation followed the prisoners throughout the work camps. Men with a talent for sewing sat down and used the remnants of worn out uniforms to make gloves to protect workers’ hands during the winter. They also took two pairs of worn out trousers and took them apart, combining the pieces and patching where necessary to make one pair of wearable, if non-regulation, battledress trousers. In many cases the repairs had to be made with different coloured threads, giving the soldiers the appearance of tramps
with their tattered and patched uniforms hanging from their malnourished frames.

Using such skills the ever-inventive prisoners were also able to make their own unit badges which they wore with pride in the place of those lost when their original uniforms had fallen to pieces. Particularly for the regular soldiers, such displays were a source of pride showing that despite their defeat on the battlefield they were still professional soldiers who were determined to return to their rightful place in the ranks of their own regiments. For the prisoners such embellishments became a small but important sign of their resistance to what was happening around them. It reassured them that despite their servitude they were still able to defy the enemy and display a sense of individuality.

In time the situation began to resolve itself. Complete sets of battledress arrived via the Red Cross, sent out by families of pre-war regulars many of whom had left their service dress at home when they went to war. Tailors and cobblers shops were even available at some of the larger work camps, where pre-war craftsmen from among the prisoners were able to ply their trade. Some of the working prisoners were even lucky enough to keep one spare uniform for ‘best’, that could be worn on days off or when they were allowed out of the camp. Gordon Barber was among them: ‘Most of us sent home for spare uniforms. We asked the Red Cross to help since we had no clothes. My mum sent me mine. Mine was more ornate than most. We still had a bit of pride.’
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Underlying their complaints about clothing shortages was the awareness that there were vast stocks of captured uniforms in the Stalags, both British and those belonging to other nationalities, but the problem was distribution. The major shortages were of greatcoats and underwear. Most of the men had been captured in the summer of 1940 and had
not been carrying winter clothing at the time, and with just one set of underwear this of course soon perished. When the British Red Cross dispatched 4,000 sets of underwear to Germany for British POWs the Germans intervened and sent the garments to a camp for Croatians. Such actions left thousands of prisoners with just one set of underwear. The iniquities regarding clothing enraged some of the prisoners. Whilst many of those heading out of the Stalags on work details were clothed in all manner of foreign uniforms and ragged battledress, those who remained in the camps often had adequate clothing, including sets for ‘best’ which they kept clean and well pressed. Some prisoners felt their own senior NCOs were responsible for keeping the best clothing within the Stalags, although in reality it was often the decision of the Germans to prevent clothing being fairly distributed.

The authorities frequently refused to issue new clothing unless worn out items were handed over. This was unfair on some of the POWs. Those captured in Greece often arrived in Germany clad in lightweight cotton uniforms that were unsuited to the harsh northern Europe winter. Some had even swum to safety when their ships were sunk and arrived with little more than shorts and shirts. When one detachment of 200 POWs arrived from Crete they were refused new uniforms. As they made their way to their first work detail many were still clad in sandals and shorts. The journey took its toll and one prisoner succumbed to the cold, dying before he reached the work camp. The irony was that in summer the prisoners on many work details were forbidden to wear khaki shorts and told they should continue to work in thick woollen battledress trousers despite the heat.

As prisoners were transferred between Stalags and work camps they soon realized how standards of clothing varied from place to place. Even after stocks of replacement battledress
had arrived those prisoners who received new clothing continued to find some of it to be from the armies of other nations. In 1942 in one camp it was estimated that 30 per cent of British and Commonwealth inmates were dressed in foreign uniforms, 10 per cent were wearing clogs and they all had foreign greatcoats. Even as late as 1944 some were still clothed in foreign uniforms. By March that year one detachment of men working at a quarry were all seen to be wearing either Russian or French uniforms. Miners at Gleiwitz Oehringen described their clothing as being in ‘unbearable’ condition, since it had gone unchanged and unwashed for an entire year. Another group of 25 men employed in a tile and brick factory reported each having a solitary outfit to wear all day, every day. In early 1945 one mine was found to be staffed almost entirely by French Canadian soldiers who had been captured in Normandy. More than six months later they were still clothed in the same uniforms they had been wearing when they were captured and had not been issued with a single item of clothing. It was no surprise a Red Cross visitor to one camp reported: ‘a large percentage of the men are dressed like tramps’.
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Those fortunate enough to have spare clothing were not always able to take advantage of it. Rules over clothing varied from place to place and were dependent on the attitudes of the employers or guards. On two Arbeitskommandos from Stalag XXa the prisoners were subjected to harsh rulings over their uniforms. Each man was allowed just one shirt or undershirt, one pair of pants, one pair of trousers, one jacket, one pair of socks and one pair of boots. All day they worked in the same clothes that they had to wear at night, sleeping in their vests and pants before re-dressing to start work again. Long hours were passed as prisoners squatted on their bunks in dimly lit barracks darning and sewing, making basic repairs to keep their clothing from falling
to pieces. One of the few concessions made by the Germans was to allow prisoners to purchase some clothing. Vests and gloves were made available in some camps but the prisoners were forced to pay for them from their own money. As much as three complete days’ wages were needed just to purchase a pair of gloves.

The stocks of clothing held at many camps ready to replace worn out uniforms did not always survive intact. At Stalag IVc the arrival of 400 prisoners evacuated from camps in Italy in late 1943 meant camps’ stocks were soon exhausted. All needed to be fully re-clothed and once the remaining stores were issued there was nothing left for the rest of the camp’s population. Soon it was reported that only 35 per cent had a spare outfit. At Stalag VIIIb the situation was even worse with the Red Cross reporting none of the 12,000 prisoners owning more than one outfit. Another group evacuated from Italy arrived in Germany to be stripped of all their possessions, such as blankets, spare clothing and boots. In another punitive move by the guards, at the end of winter prisoners were forced to hand back pullovers supplied by the Red Cross. Supposedly this was for safekeeping but, as many knew, they would not be returned in winter. When prisoners asked what had happened their guards admitted the pullovers had been issued to other nationalities.

In face of such appalling conditions it was the friendships shared among the prisoners that helped keep them sane. The sharing of adversity helped establish friendships that were to last a lifetime. Gordon Barber recalled life at a state farm in East Prussia:

My mate Ken Willats, he was lucky ’cause his mum and dad both had good jobs. They had a big house in Tooting and used to take in students. We used to get 50 or 100 fags from our parents. He used to get 500. But when he got them he’d go round and give us all at least five or ten each. I used to muck in with a bloke called Lofty Griggs and he was the cleverest man I ever knew. He could sew, he could iron, he could do all the things I couldn’t do. But in return he’d always say ‘Nobby, when you go out tonight, bring me something back.’ ’Cause I knew all the places to pinch food.’
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Sixty years on Barber has never forgotten the generosity shown by Willats and they remain close friends.

The problems of cigarette shortages, in particular during the early and latter stages of the war, made life difficult for the smokers among the prisoners. Tobacco was vital to stave off the pangs of hunger that assaulted their bellies, yet the shortages of tobacco seemed to go hand in hand with food shortages. Often they were issued with Polish cigarettes, some of which were so foul that the prisoners would tie the tobacco inside rags, boil it, squeeze out the water and dry it before attempting to smoke it. At other times they were issued with cigarettes called ‘Unacs’ which were a small plug of tobacco at the end of a cardboard tube. Not only did they taste foul but they offered a very unsatisfactory smoke, as one man remembered: ‘Two puffs and the end would fall off in your bed.’
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In their desperation the POWs smoked anything they could get their hands on. They dried rose leaves and stuffed them into pipes. They waited till the tea leaves from their Red Cross parcels had been exhausted, then dried them and rolled them in scraps of paper. Men on work details desperately scavenged cigarette butts from the gutters and stuffed them into their pockets, before taking them to pieces and rolling the remaining tobacco.

For all the discomfort and desperate longing for the niceties of life endured by the working prisoners few even
contemplated escape. It was little wonder anti-aircraft gunner John Tonkin, captured in Crete, entitled his unpublished memoirs
No Tunnels, No Wooden Horses
. With little time on their hands to plan escapes and with insufficient energy left to dig tunnels, they recognized they would have a slim chance of making a ‘home run’. It was not that they did not yearn for freedom as much as any of their officer comrades or the airmen in their Stalag Lufts but quite simply any hopes of freedom were destroyed by the reality of their daily lives. Unlike officers who could devote long hours to plotting and scheming, the other ranks had their hours too fully occupied by work to have time for forging papers or converting uniforms into civilian outfits. Few had any real grasp of whereabouts they were, let alone how they might make their way to freedom, as one explained: ‘We were what you’d call the illiterate mob. We didn’t know anything. Officers could read a compass, I didn’t have a clue.’
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This lack of practical ability when it came to ‘making a break for it’ hampered Les Allan when he and a mate escaped from a working party. He had little thought of being successful. There was little heroic about his escape, he was simply ‘fed up’ and decided to ‘shove off’. After three days and nights on the run, eating potatoes they stole from the fields, they eventually found themselves in some woods where they spent the night. The next morning they awoke to find themselves surrounded by German soldiers. They were soon put on a truck and sent back to the camp. There was a final ironic twist to their story: ‘We’d been on the run for three days and nights but it only took about ten minutes to drive back to the camp!’
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For their efforts they were both given 28 days in solitary confinement.

For the men on working parties the whole notion of tunnelling to freedom was absurd, as Ken Willats recalled:

I had no need to dig a tunnel. I could have walked out of the camp at any time but where would I have gone? I heard a story of some fellows who broke out. Their objective was to get to Danzig and to stow away on a boat and get to Sweden. After a bit of hardship they eventually reached Danzig and went to the docks. And what did they see? Prisoners of war, loading and unloading boats. So that rather crushed their morale. So it was tail between their legs and walk back to the working party.
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The ease with which it was possible to escape from many working parties was illustrated by Australian, Edward Sicklen. Whilst walking through an ill-lit Munich subway on his way to work he simply switched his uniform cap for a civilian hat. With that simple change he was able to mingle in with the crowds. Despite the ease of escape he failed to get far and like most escapers he was picked up within days. He was recaptured attempting to reach Belgrade by train, from where he hoped to change trains to reach neutral Turkey.

There was another important factor in preventing most POWs from making serious attempts to escape. Many realized they would have insufficient energy to be successful. The prisoners survived on pitifully small rations. Though some were able to hoard a little food to use in escape attempts most preferred simply to eat everything they received in a desperate struggle to maintain their health. It soon became clear to most that the notion of ‘making a break for it’ was a luxury they could ill afford. At Moosburg Bryan Willoughby contemplated his options:

At the back of my mind was the idea that I could get enough strength to take off and get down to the Swiss border. I would have had a go. But I realized I hadn’t got the strength. One time coming back from working in Munich the train broke down and we had to walk the last seven miles. I only just made it. So that scotched that idea. Then a Yank pal of mine tried to persuade me to go, Sergeant Cox. He went but I stayed behind. I saw him back in the Stalag minus a foot. He’d taken off but was caught on the railway, he’d got frostbite and it had to be amputated. But if I’d been fit enough, I would have been silly enough to try it.
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