What happened to him and to many like him, we have never been told, but by the time the trek was over our ranks were considerably reduced in numbers. Fortunately for me, I had several advantages. I was young, had experienced hard physical work through 'teen years, had a muscular, athletic physique, and had maintained my conditioning by walking the prison compound since my capture. Also I had not been a prisoner for long, and did not have a long period of malnutrition as some of my fellow prisoners had endured before the march; Even so, I developed muscle spasms in my thighs which made walking quite painful for a few days. Day after day we continued, trudging through the snow and cold; and spending the nights shivering in some animal shelter with the wind whistling through. Our good padre patrolled the lines, helping those in difficulty and encouraging those who were flagging. He probably walked three times the distance that any of the rest of us did, while trying to mitigate the misery of others. One day I saw him carrying someone into the evening bivouac, and making sure that he had a tolerable place to spend the night. In Heaven, I am sure the padre will be occupying the most honored seat.
The morning of January 30, 1944, dawned cold and blustery as we assembled to begin our days march. We were informed that we had a very long walk, as we had to cross the Oder River, so that the bridges could be demolished. Apparently the Russians were advancing rapidly, and there was no way that the Germans were going to allow us to be taken by the Russians. By this time many of the prisoners were in bad shape, but were promised dire consequences, for any one dropping out on the road. Besides, where would we go? Late that afternoon the temperature dropped, the snow storm became a blizzard with fierce west wind in our faces. Soon we were trudging through several inches of fresh snow. Sometime through the night we came to the Oder River, crossed the bridge, and by morning, the snow stopped and we were led into a farm commune where we collapsed into the barns, and slept until mid afternoon. This was the most comfortable accommodation that we enjoyed so far on this "death march". Later that afternoon we were offered soup, bread and potatoes. We spent another night at this location, a very welcome respite after our horrific walk over the past three days.
Feb 2 the sun dawned brightly, and the air warmed up considerably. A long row of prisoners lined up along a low fence, with their footwear off, revealing black toes and blistered feet. No medical care was offered, or available, so that the only thing to do was to put on the best foot wear that one had and carry on. Fortunately for me, my feet were in relatively good shape, but my hands were numb, fiery red and very swollen, especially my fingers. For several years following the war I suffered from Raynaud's phenomenon, that is, in response to cold, my fingers would become blanched, and when warmed, would become, cyanotic and painful. Many of the familiar faces were missing on Feb.2, 1944. I am not aware of their eventual fate.
During our prolonged stay in the farm commune, some of us found some edible food. Under a threshing machine, there were beans and we filled our spare socks with hope that we would have an opportunity to cook them. A pile of sugar beets was raided, a mixed blessing in that they supplied some nourishment but produced diarrhea, which was very inconvenient given our circumstances. A couple of nights later while bunked in a hay loft, I fell down a ladder while answering the call of nature, landing on a wooden floor. As a result I had a clean up job, which, as you can imagine was complicated, embarrassing, and not too effective. The rest of the march was very difficult due to dysentery, which was affecting the whole camp. By now the boys were in difficulty and our guards were having as much trouble as we were. By this time in the war the guards were mostly old men by military standards, veterans of the First World War and they were worn out.
By February 8, we had arrived at a rail center near Goldberg, box cars were waiting for us, and our walk was over. Many of us who had experienced rail travel in box cars previously, were not too happy about the prospect, as we remembered those Thunderbolts, and their job of shooting up trains. The Germans refused to mark the POW trains so they could be identified as such and not combatants. However, we had no choice, climbed aboard completely, filling the space. There was no room to sit or lie down; the best one could do was to hunch down on one's knees. Remember, this was a group affected with dysentery, and very weakened after two and a half weeks on a forced march, in sub zero weather, on very little food, and inadequately clothed. We were three days on these box cars, with no food and very little water. Elimination was achieved by wriggling to the end of the car, where there was an opening above head height. The P.O.W. in need of relief was hoisted up, his nether end projected into the outside, and he would eliminate whatever was his need.
On February 11, 1944, we arrived at Luckenwalde, ten miles west of Potsdam, about sixty miles southwest of Berlin and fifty miles southeast of Magdeburg. We, a sorry remnant of the troop from Stalag Lufte VII B, staggered off the box cars, and made our way through the village to Stalag III A, where we found ourselves again behind barbed wire, in circumstances much worse than those at Stalag Lufte VII B. We were more fortunate than many, in that we did get into a barrack building with bunks. Many of the other occupants were living in tents without proper bunks or beds. Nevertheless, we were a sad, sick, exhausted group of men, many grieving comrades who had not been able to keep up, and whose fate was unknown. One of the Irish Guards had, early in the march, become completely psychotic, had to be tied to a stretcher and taken away, where to, nobody knew. It seemed totally unfair that this man, who had survived five years of the indignity of life in a prison camp, might not survive, now that the war was nearly over.
Fortunately, our stalwart padre made it, as strong and patient as ever, giving forth great strength and encouragement. Stalag III A, Luckenwalde, was a hell-hole to be sure, consisting of about seventeen thousand prisoners of several nationalities, Americans four thousand, British four thousand, Russian slaves three thousand, plus Serbians, Polish, Italian partisans, French, Norwegians, and others. There were several compounds consisting of huts one hundred feet, by forty feet, each hut containing bunks for one hundred and seventy men, arranged so that there would a few open spots for a table, chairs and a heating stove. Each hut was abutting a latrine and a row of taps for washing. The huts were infested with fleas, lice, and bed bugs. We had brought our blankets (two] from Bankou, but our personal gear, footwear, socks, etc. were in dismal condition following our "death march", and confinement to the box cars. However, it was better than freezing to death on the road or slowly dying on those dreadful box cars.
Nourishment was now totally dependent on the food that the Germans brought in. Hot water or Ersatz coffee was brought in about eight o'clock in the morning. Between noon and thirteen hundred hours, a pint of watery soup, with shreds of dried vegetables, cabbage, split peas, turnips or nettles, and perhaps, once a week, a strand of meat was served. Very occasionally, a very thin porridge would be served instead of soup. Later in the afternoon, a half dozen very small potatoes [ping pong size and with lots of rotten ones or partially rotted ones] sometimes with some margarine, and sometimes with a teaspoon of sugar. A bread ration, one loaf of very black bread to be shared by six to ten men, rounded out the German responsibility for the day’s sustenance.
The camp was full ofvery sick men, as dysentery was still rampant, with the latrines fullyoccupied day and night. Men would collapse and have difficulty getting back to their bunks. Again, there was the padre, keeping watch, giving words of encouragement, and giving help to those who were having trouble walking. One of the P.O. W.'s had taken on the task of health orderly. He was an air crew member who had been badly burned when he was shot down, survived with severe scarring of the face and hands, and maybe more. He was in charge of a make shift "sick bay", advising fellow prisoners of methods of keeping as well as possible under the circumstances. He would direct parts of the camp food, like oatmeal, to those who were sickest. As a result of the circumstances surrounding his shoot down, he would have nightmares, during which he uttered the most penetrating screams. His bunk mates would talk him down, so that he could go back to sleep. Fleas, lice, and bed bugs were a major annoyance. Their presence presented a worry about the possibility of an outbreak of typhus fever. Fortunately, this did not occur, at least not in our compound, as far as we knew. Part of my daily routine was to go out, sit on the snow or grass, remove enough clothing to access all parts of my skin, turn the garments inside out, and pick off as many of the vermin as I could find on me, and my clothes. This at least, made me feel that I was keeping the population under control, but every day there was a new crop.
The worst crime in camp was any suggestion of collaborating with the Germans, who we now hated with a passion unimaginable. We would think about how well the Germans in Canadian POW camps were fed and housed and imagined how we would like to have the chance to reduce them to our present circumstances. The second worst crime was stealing food from a fellow POW. Often a compatible group would pool their food and prepare and eat it together. Usually one person would be responsible, and mostly it would work out well. But not always--- in one group the trustee was found to be helping himself when he had the opportunity and he thought no one was looking. After he was found out, he was shunned and ostracized, not only by his buddies, but by the whole hut. As mentioned before, the total obsession was food and cigarettes. Those with the worst addiction to nicotine, would sell their food for tobacco or cigarettes, the going rate of exchange, in good times, was one loaf of black bread for twenty cigarettes. As food became very restricted, the rate went up to one loaf for fifty cigarettes.
As the weeks went by, and the war news became more and more adverse for the German side, our guards were replaced by older and older men. the middle aged men were sent to the front to try to hold the Russians from taking over the country, Quite noticeably, the arrogance of the Germans, right up to the commandant, melted away, and they would remind us how well they personally behaved toward us, in hopes that we would befriend them when the Allies over ran the camp. During April 1945, it was obvious that the guards had civilian clothes under their uniforms, in case they would be able to pass themselves off as refugees, or other non combatants. Naturally with the older and older guards, the control of the camp by the Germans began to break down. Where as in Bankou, during an air raid, any POW outside the barracks would be shot, now they milled around the compounds, while the bombers flew over, cheering loudly, while the security officers pathetically requested that they go into the barracks. An S. S. officer came to the camp to persuade British and Americans to join the "Saint George Brigade", whichthe Germans would organize, arm, and lead into battle against the Russians and save the world from communism. The best response that he received was a derisive horse laugh!
There was always an organization of the POW's, headed by the senior allied officer, who, at Luckenwalde, was a Norwegian, whom everyone respected. Various organizational requirements were delegated through the officers, and no doubt, through some NCO's, who were POW's in the camp. Not being involved in this hierarchy, I had little knowledge of the personnel or their activities, but this is well explained in a book that I have in my possession "Diary of a Kriegie" by Edward W. Beattie, Junior. This internal organization was very efficient, and had made plans for taking over command of the camp, when the Germans left.
Actually, as the Germans lost control, the organization did assume responsibility, to assure that anarchy did not occur, and that enough discipline was in place to protect, persons and whatever food supply was left there, and to make sure that it was equitably distributed. As April, 1945 arrived, news of the advancing Allies cheered us all up. The western front was advancing rapidly across Germany, so that we were hopeful that we would be liberated by the British or Americans. Still the Germans did not want us to fall into either the hands of the Russians or the Western Alliance.
April 12 we were informed that we were to be moved by train into southern Germany, and we were to be ready for evacuation. The whole procedure was a mess, but eventually they rounded up about one thousand, mostly Royal Air Force POW's, and marched them to the railway station. Not wishing to get back on a box car, I, along with many others, managed to move around through the camp, evading the trek to the railway station. In any case, the group that went to the railway station was brought back into camp next day, as the Germans could not find a serviceable locomotive to pull the train. The whole episode was indicative of the demoralized state of our guards, who, as I mentioned earlier, were now old men. In the former times when the Germans were full of confidence, they would never have put up with the passive resistance that was being used by the POW's.
During the next few days, we could hear the sounds of artillery to the east, signaling the approach of the Russian front. Also, there was increased air activity on the part of the German air force, passing overhead on their way to give some support to their retreating army. About April 15, 1945, a large number of night bombers struck Potsdam, which was ten miles east of our camp. Later we heard that five hundred bombers dropped there load on the railway junction there. Although they were probably twenty thousand feet high, the drone of there engines was overpowering, seemingly vibrating through and through one's body. When the bombs began to explode, the intense shock waves were incredible. What the effect of such an experience is, at close range can only be imagined. We had experienced close range bombing, but not from so many aircraft all at once. Every night from this time on, we could see the search lights, flashes of bursting bombs, hear the artillery out to the east.
We now realized that the Russians, not the western Alliance, would be our liberators. The bombing raids intensified with the RAF working the night shift and the Americans the day shift. The artillery at the eastern front filled in any possible respite in between. April 20, 1945, word came in that the Russians had broken through, about thirty miles east, and the Germans would be marching all seventeen thousand of us toward the American lines. However, no such thing happened.
By April 21, 10:45AM, the guards had all left the camp, and the POW's organization had taken over. Of course, the majority of the POWs were military, so that it was quite easy to exert a command of the situation. It was very important that we not present a hostile combatant attitude, as we were unarmed, and could be shot down without difficulty, if a German unit decided to do so. An SS unit was stationed in the woods to the south of us, approached the gates of the camp, and demanded that the POWs be seconded to them, to do things like dig trenches. Our officers reminded them that their request was out of order, as it was contravening the Geneva Convention. Fortunately, they did not insist, but reminded our officer in command, that they were in a position to destroy us, if we showed any hostile intention. We were in the unfortunate position of having to negotiate with any hostile troops approaching us, because none of the German camp administrators remained in camp.
During the night of April 21, 1945, an unidentified air craft flew low over the camp with machine guns blazing. A pattern of noise like stones hitting the roof rattled across the hut. There was a great clatter as men jumped off their bunks in search of a more sheltered spot, although where that would be, I do not know. No one seemed to have been injured, and the next morning, the noise was explained by the presence of shell casings, scattered along the ground. Obviously, the air craft had been firing at a target beyond the camp, and not at us. The two weeks preceding April 22, were extremely chaotic and nerve wracking, because of the great uncertainty of our situation. Most of us were not privy to what was going on in the surrounding countryside, but were bombarded by rumors of German troops nearby, and of their malignant intentions toward us. On several occasions, we were said to be under threat of annihilation if any aggressive activity was exhibited by us. This possibly came from our own officers, in order to put away any heroic activity that might be anticipated by one of the POWS. Sounds of battle roared around us. We could see many fires burning, and had observed fierce air attacks on nearby Potsdam. The bomb blasts and the sound of artillery went on day and night.
At early daybreak of April 22, 1945, a small armored car came through the camp; the Russian officer had a discussion with our senior camp officer. We were told that he had informed the S.C.O. that the Germans had left Luckenwalde town, that we were to stay in the camp, and that the tanks would be coming through later in the day. As I remember it, a column of tanks, with troops, men and women, riding on the machines, came down the main road, through the camp. Most of the troops were definitely Oriental, presenting themselves as friendly, well fed and well dressed. They were carrying small arms of varying sorts. Their battle dress was quilted tunics and trousers, the women dressed the same as the men. They halted briefly, indicated that they had good feelings toward us, Roosevelt, Stalin, Churchill, and General Patton. They mounted the tanks and were away. One of the tanks drove through the barbed wire fence, then drove along for about fifty feet on top of the wire, and indicated that we should remove the rest.
Many of the POWs took advantage of the new freedom, ranged outside the camp into the town and the countryside. Many looted food and other objects which were small enough to carry off. Of course, the German civilians were terrified and did not resist, or if they did, the threat of bringing the Russians to deal with them, totally subdued them. After the many years, it is still a matter of some shame, the hateful things that some of us did, and the satisfaction that we derived by humiliating and terrorizing these human beings, who were now at our mercy. After a couple of forays outside camp, I could no longer participate, as these old people, women and children, reminded me of my relatives at home. Dropping bombs from an air craft five miles above, in the dark, on objects not seen, was a different matter than seeing helpless, frightened people with a face and eyes.
Jim McPhee- My story, Page 6 continued