On our continuing trip, it was noted that the countryside became almost like the Canadian prairie, and, by the time we arrived at Bankou the landscape was totally flat, as far as he eye could see. As we marched through the gate of Stalag 7B, we were met by a crowd of young men in a variety of dress, in a variety of condition. One of the first prisoners that I saw was a young blond chap, who I recognized as Eddie Clinton, who was born and raised just north of Thessalon, near where I was raised. He had been shot down a few weeks before, but until then I didn't know whether he was dead or alive. In camp we became very good friends, and had some very good times when we came back to Canada, then went our separate ways and eventually lost touch.
Along with the other arrivals, I was assigned a bunk in a wooden barrack-like hut. As I remember, the hut was about one hundred, by forty feet, with one hundred and fifty to one hundred and seventy five men assigned bunks there in. The bunks were massive structures, made of wood, consisting of three tiers, and each three tier unit occupying about ten square feet of floor space. We were given a palliasse to fill with wood shavings, to use as a mattress. The best bed was the top bunk as we found out later. I got the bottom bunk, but at least did not have to climb to get to bed at night. In our "living space" was a rough wooden table and benches, to serve the occupants of several bunks. This looked very crude but it was the best we had seen for some weeks and was luxury to what we would experience in the near future.
Stalag #7B was by design quite isolated, surrounded by very flat land on which soft coal was extracted by strip mining. The small village of Bankou could be seen a ways from the prison, and, did not seem to be a target of the bombing campaign. Occasionally, we could hear the bombing stream flying high overhead, presumably heading southeast maybe to the oil fields at Ploesti, in Romania, but very seldom did we hear bombs exploding. However, when the air raid siren sounded, we were required to stay inside the huts until the all clear. We were warned that anyone seen outside during an air raid alert would be shot without further warning.
Within the camp we were given a good deal of freedom to wander around, utilize the facilities, such as soccer, softball, etc. A building that was clear and big enough for use as a small theater, was used to present plays and other theater arts, I had arrived just before Christmas, and in time to enjoy the very good presentations. Amazingly good productions were put together, with props and costumes made by the prisoners, and the actors performed both male and female characters. In keeping with the Christmas season, there were concerts, with choral singing and the whole gamut of Christmas Theatre.
Meals were prepared in a cookhouse, and were doled out once a day. The assigned prisoners prepared soup, boiled potatoes, and sometimes meat which I think was mostly horse, mule or donkey. Ersatz coffee accompanied the above. The soup was made with cabbage, nettles or shredded vegetables, very thin and revolting to the taste buds. For disgusting, the nettles took the prize although I have learned later was probably the most nourishing. A loaf of black bread was given out once a day, to a group of six to ten men depending on the availability, and, I suspect on the mood of the camp officers. The division of the bread was up to the prisoners to divide as they agreed. The bread was divided as equally as possible; and the portions were lined up on the table. From a deck of playing cards was dealt a card to each piece of bread and a card to each person. The man with the highest card would take the portion of bread which had the highest card beside it and down the line, Eating utensils were quite basic, consisting of a spoon, a wooden self made knife, and tin mugs. Varieties of containers were tin cans from Red Cross parcels, and modified at the discretion of each person. The German rations were supplemented by the well known Red Cross food parcels, which were regularly distributed in the camp at Bankou during the short time that I was there. The parcels usually contained canned meat, powdered milk [Klim] or canned milk, canned or dried fruit [raisins, prunes and figs], various cheeses, chocolate, sometimes a pudding [especially in the English parcels] and always cigarettes.
The parcels were from Canada, Britain, or the United States. Sometimes we would receive a parcel from Argentine which would contain corned beef, and some of the best old cheese that I have ever had. The Red Cross parcels saved many a prisoner’s life, and just as importantly, gave some variety to life that could be stifling boredom. Also cigarettes that came in each parcel supplied the nicotine to which most of us were addicted, and withdrawal in our circumstances would have been devastating. The cigarettes became our currency which was used to gamble, or to purchase food either from the German guards, or from our more furiously addicted comrades. The equivalent was twenty cigarettes for one loaf of black bread.
Keeping busy to avoid the blues, and to make the time seem to move faster, took many different directions and forms. Again the Red Cross did supply some reading material including text books, novels, and some men received reading material from home. Airmen who had been teachers offered courses for those who wished to further their education level. There was other activity of various kinds, and what one wanted to do was up to the individual. Amazing crafts produced articles, both utilitarian and artistic, the raw material being tin cans, wood from packaging, yarn from sewing kits, and almost any thing that one could imagine. One item that most of us made was a miniature stove called a "smokey joe". The raw material again came from the parcel--- tin cans. The favorite can was powdered milk can. The cans were stacked; draft holes were cut and fastened together using strips of tin or whatever the imagination could think up. These little devices varied in complexity from very simple to those that had mechanical bellows or blowers to intensify the heat. Some lads became quite expert at cooking up puddings, cakes, and other marvelous concoctions. The "smokey joe" was quite efficient, enabling one to quite quickly boil a pot of water, or a pot of porridge with a few scraps of paper, or shavings of wood.
One of the gross amusements at night was the production of "blue angels". The diet of black bread and cabbage soup produced massive flatulence and some of the lads found that they were methane producers. They would assume a position on their hands and knees, some one would light a match near their buttocks, and as they passed wind, a blue flame would momentarily flare up. Hard to believe that grown men would indulge in such diversions, but when bored the imagination is marvelous.
One noticeable item missing from the conversation was sex, which was a great difference from the barracks back in England. Food was the usual subject of conversation in camp and the only time women were discussed was in there role in the preparation of food. In camp as in life, there were "wheeler-dealers" who bought and sold anything that might be desired by the boys. As noted previously the currency was the cigarette, and some entrepreneurs were collecting I.O.U's, on the hope that they would collect when they came home after the war was over. Gambling was very popular, by dice, cards whatever was available. I was neither a gambler nor a trader, but did enjoy playing cards and checkers. Being classified as escape potentials we were not put out to work and as a matter of fact, I believe that we were exempt as NCO's.
In the camp there was a group of Irish Guards that had been captured in North Africa five years previously. Amazing discipline ruled their lives, requiring them to keep their uniforms immaculate, their shoes spotless, their faces shaved each day. Their officers had them out in formation each day. When the camp had to be evacuated in January 1945, one of them became quite psychotic, probably because of the break in the routine.
The camp was surrounded by the usual double barbed wire fence, with a trip wire some ten feet in front of the inner fence. At each corner of the compound and at intervals, there were guard towers manned by sentries, who were armed with an automatic fire arm and a rifle. At our orientation by one of the guard officers [German] we were informed that the Geneva Convention required them to give an escaping prisoner a warning before he would be shot, and we should consider this to be the preliminary warning. If we tried to escape we would be shot without further warning. Also, we were warned that during an air raid we were to stay inside, on pain of being immediately shot if we were found to be outside. Shortly after my arrival we received a demonstration as to how serious they were on this point. At mid afternoon one day, the air raid siren sounded and we all went inside. After and hour or so the all clear signal came from the town, but had not yet been made in the camp. One of the chaps who thought the air raid was over, dashed out to go to the cookhouse to prepare the rations for our daily meal, a shot rang out and he was mortally wounded on the run.
Our senior officer made a very indignant protest to the camp commandant, pointing out that this was a violation of the letter and the spirit of the Geneva Convention. He was given an apology and explained that the guard that did the shooting had his whole family killed in an air raid a few weeks previously and obviously was in a state of anger which he took out on our comrade. He said that the guard would be transferred to a less vulnerable duty. This was the first time some of us had seen this sort of activity, and it certainly makes one think about being careful.
Shortly after arriving in camp, Christmas came and went. On Christmas day we were given a fairly generous portion of horse meat and potatoes in recognition of the day. On Sundays optional church services were held but I never did get around to one. One of the padres was from the British army, an Anglican I believe. Well over six feet tall, he could be seen around the camp, always trying to cheer people up and doing what he could to help any one in difficulty. Optimism was his constant presentation, always assuring us that the war would soon be over and we would all be going home. Jokes about the padre's optimistic encouraging stories circulated, and whenever someone would present an optimistic front, they would be accused of listening seriously to the padre. In camp was an illicit radio, purchased from a comprised guard, component by component, until there were enough parts to make a workable unit. These guards would be compromised in a variety of ways, by stealing some important part of his equipment or his note book, or in other imaginative ways, then threaten the guard with exposure to his more senior officer. This was a technique that was used in many different situations by prisoners who were looking for materials to help in preparing for escape, or just for getting something to make life more bearable.
Getting back to the illicit radio, this was used to get the BBC news, which was a real booster of morale, especially during my imprisonment when the invasion was going so well, and it looked like there was no way that the Germans could prolong the war more than a few months. Where the radio was hidden in our camp, I do not know, but from other camp stories, the radio men found some very ingenious places to stow them. An almost a daily news bulletin would be prepared and read to the inmates of each hut while a watcher would look out for the "goons" [German guards]. Most of the news was good, except during the German counter-attack at the Falaise Gap, when the Allies had to retreat. The German guards assured us that this was a major come back and that they fully expected the Allies to be driven back to England.
Shortly after New Year 1945, news came through of a major Russian offensive coming our way. Anxiously we listened to the daily news bulletin, looking forward to the day that we would be liberated. Strangely, I did not feel too concerned about the battle front passing through our camp, or whether or not we would be subject to the violence of the conflict. About January 10 we were informed by the Germans that we would not be left in Bankou for the Russians to overtake us, but that we would be evacuated toward the west. We were told to prepare for a forced march, so that by January 15, we were marched out onto the road, with our meager possessions gathered into a blanket roll. So began a trip not to be forgotten! Our clothing was grossly inadequate for a vicious Polish winter, mine consisting of an American army uniform and a greatcoat. Fortunately, I had three pairs of heavy woolen socks, and a pair of American army boots.
We were instructed to march in columns of three, and that any attempt to escape would result in a shot to kill, and if an escape did take place, ten POW's would be shot. A few dogs, German shepherds were brought along to discourage any attempt to escape. Winter in this part of Europe is much like the winter in northern Ontario, with temperatures down to thirty degrees below zero Fahrenheit, and 1945 winter was exceptionally severe. Over about twenty four days, we walked about one hundred and fifty miles. The first day on the march was clear but quite cold. Late in the afternoon we came to some barns, which were frame structures, with single sheeting of one inch lumber, showing cracks between the boards. They were much the same construction as Canadian hay barns of fifty years ago. It was with disbelief that we reacted to the announcement that we would spend the night in this structure. There was no food given to us, and we had to do with what ever we were able to bring with us from what was left of our last Red Cross parcel. By remaining in all of our clothing, crowded together, we were able to get through the night.
The usual German greeting, "raus! raus!" got us up and on the road again. As we trudged along the road became more crowded with civilians of all ages, but mostly women, children and old people, who were heading west to escape the possible oncoming Russians. Most were walking, pulling children, the old and infirm on sleds and hand wagons. Occasionally a family would have the luxury of a horse or a donkey, a dog, a goat, or a few chickens. To see these very vulnerable people heading out in this severe weather, one could not help thinking about ones grandparents, knowing that many of the old people would not survive this outrage. Military personnel and equipment were moving east, and of course, had the right of way requiring all others to make way in the snow banks beside the roads. Each night we would be put into farm buildings, barns, or animal shelters- whatever was available. We soon learned how to hunker down to keep as warm as possible. However, very early in the march, the prisoners began to have major problems. The second day several were unable to carry on. I remember one chap, a large man of about twenty years was pulled into our bivouac on a sled. He appeared to be moribund, unresponsive to questions. In the morning he was not to be seen, and his fate is unknown to me.
Jim McPhee- My story, Page 5 continued