Twenty four of us were marched off and told to get into a German truck, one of about 20 waiting on the road, our ride to Derna had started. About 100 miles over the desert road - the road that had been shelled by the Navy time out of number. The truck stopped once on the road and the German guard sitting with us in the back of the truck opened a tin of peaches and shared it with all of us. Just a tit-bit, but a good gesture!
Late in the evening, our truck entered Derna Pass. From the top we could see on our left, Derna drome, which bore the scars of RAF bombs,and the pile of wreckage proved that the bombs had found the target. As we turned in the pass, we stood up and looked out of the side of the lorry and at the bottom, I could see Derna itself, looking like a small sand model.There are about eight hairpin bends in the Derna Pass, for the road has been drilled out of a solid face of rock, and one false move by any driver could mean a crash over the side of the road to the bottom 1,600 feet below.
As we neared the bottom, we could see the wreckage of trucks and tanks whch had catapulted from the top. The town of Derna was not badly damaged, for, in the previous pushes, the British had bypassed the town owing to the fact that the mountain road was the only exit.
Just outside the town wall we arrived at the Arab cemetery and Derna fort. Right turn, found our truck in the cemetery, and among the graves sat prisoners like ourselves, surrounded by barbed wire. This was the initiation into our lives behind the wire.
At the entrance, we were handed over to the Italians! 'Presto, presto!' shouted the new guards and our entrance behind the wire was hurried by cracks across the back with the butt of a rifle. The only space behind the wire for us was a few square feet per man. On rough estimation, there were over 2,000 of us sitting in an area half the size of a football pitch, and we were hungry. How long would we be here? What and when would we eat? These were the questions we would be asking for months, perhaps years, and in time we should get apathetic and indifferent to life, not caring what happened to us. But we must remember we are members of the Bulldog Breed, not lap dogs!
After claiming my foot of ground, sitting down with my knees up to my chin; more prisoners were coming in, the guards bullying, and shouting 'Presto, presto, Inglese porki' - hurry, hurry, English pigs.
Pigs - ah, I guess we should be called worse before long. But who is this outside the wire? It looks as thought it might be the German Pathetone news. About six Germans all armed with cameras were shooting pictures of the English and colonial troops, and alongside them the Italians were doing likewise. At first, the reaction of the lads was to turn their backs on them, but German cunning came to the forefront, and when cigarettes and chocolates were thrown over the wire, hundreds of men made a mad stampede for the prize. What a photograph! In Germany, I could see the film caption: 'Starving English soldiers from Tobruk rush for chocolate'! After hundreds of men had fought for the spoils, I could see the victors brandishing their smokes or chocolate, whilst the vanquished walked back to his foot of ground, holding a black eye or a bleeding nose. What an exhibition!
This exhibition soon caused a feeling of remorse to come over the men, thus many turned the battery of cameras once again. Smiling, and with fingers showing the 'V'-sign, they stood. The shooting of films ceased, and revolvers were drawn, guttural shouting started, and bullets found their way into some of the chaps. Several fell to the ground, mortally wounded, they had insulted the Fuhrer and Il Duce!
For that we should not eat, and for two more days we did not have that pleasure.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Saturday, April 5, 2008
P.O.W.
Tramp, tramp, tramp - across the blazing desert sand we marched to the great expanse of sand reserved for the thousands of 'Englanders und Kolonial Truppen' who had been captured. What was to happen on arrival?
On the horizon I could see a seething mass of humanity and as I walked along the road, which I had come along the night before my capture, I could now see the shattered shells of the burnt-out tanks, English and German, a gun blown up, its torn barrel looking like the peeled skin of a banana, and nearby, with eyes staring at the sky, a shattered body. Whose son? Husband? A body, now so still and gruesome in that posture of death, to be buried in a corner of some foreign field that is forever England!
'Tempo, tempo!' shouted the German guards, meaning 'Hurry up, no time to waste!'. At last, we reached that area covered by the seething mass of men, we were told to all sit down and wait. Wait, wait, wait! Our lives were going to be this for the next three years. Yes, but back to the present. When do we eat, when do we quench our thirst? When? When?
How long we waited, I know not. But I vaguely remember in the early hours of the next morning being woken by the shouts of men calling 'Food and water up, come and get it!'. The ration was one tin of salmon between 12 men, and three English biscuits, all no doubt from the Base Depot in Tobruk, so Jerry was not being big-hearted, but he could have given less, or none at all. A little water was given to each man; it made many of us sick because it had been bought along in Diesel cans!
It was a nightmare for the next three days; no food or water, cold nights and blazing hot days. German transports were going through all day, loaded with ammo and the food from the dumps in Tobruk. Nearly all the transport we saw was our own, and I began to ask myself whether any of the regiments fighting there had destroyed any of their vehicles?
Before moving off in convoy, the Germans had painted the emblem of the Afrika Korps on the side of each lorry, so they were ready for the next push towards that pearl of great price, the Suez Canal.
On the fourth day of capture, we were given a few Army biscuits and the rumour spread that we were to be handed over to the Italians. Food was now becoming a problem to the Germans, for they needed all the food they could get from the dumps in Tobruk, as Rommel's army was now hammering on the doors of Egypt. Those food dumps were of vital importance to Rommel, so it was of vital importance that we were handed over to the allies of the Reich for safekeeping and feeding. Thus, on June 26th, we started moving on. What next?
************************
Barren wastes of rock and sand,
Dry, unfertile desert land,
Spiked wire on every hand,
Prisoner of war.
A hopeless host of angry men,
Croweded together in cage and pen,
Far off it seems from humankind,
Prisoner of war.
Queuing for hours in blistering heat,
Receiving a morsel of bread and meat,
Glad of even scraps to eat,
Prisoner of war.
Ill, unkempt and underfed,
Trading rings and watches for bread,
Chill, sandy shingle for a bed,
Prisoner of war.
Herded together like flocks of sheep,
Bullied and driven from dawn till sleep,
Their hearts filled with hatred deep,
Prisoner of war.
Cut from the news of the outside world,
Sifting the truth from the taunts that are heard,
Silently keeping their flag unfurled,
Prisoner of war.
Striving to keep alive their hope,
Failing at times beyond their scope,
Hugging themselves with rumour and hope,
Prisoner of war.
On the horizon I could see a seething mass of humanity and as I walked along the road, which I had come along the night before my capture, I could now see the shattered shells of the burnt-out tanks, English and German, a gun blown up, its torn barrel looking like the peeled skin of a banana, and nearby, with eyes staring at the sky, a shattered body. Whose son? Husband? A body, now so still and gruesome in that posture of death, to be buried in a corner of some foreign field that is forever England!
'Tempo, tempo!' shouted the German guards, meaning 'Hurry up, no time to waste!'. At last, we reached that area covered by the seething mass of men, we were told to all sit down and wait. Wait, wait, wait! Our lives were going to be this for the next three years. Yes, but back to the present. When do we eat, when do we quench our thirst? When? When?
How long we waited, I know not. But I vaguely remember in the early hours of the next morning being woken by the shouts of men calling 'Food and water up, come and get it!'. The ration was one tin of salmon between 12 men, and three English biscuits, all no doubt from the Base Depot in Tobruk, so Jerry was not being big-hearted, but he could have given less, or none at all. A little water was given to each man; it made many of us sick because it had been bought along in Diesel cans!
It was a nightmare for the next three days; no food or water, cold nights and blazing hot days. German transports were going through all day, loaded with ammo and the food from the dumps in Tobruk. Nearly all the transport we saw was our own, and I began to ask myself whether any of the regiments fighting there had destroyed any of their vehicles?
Before moving off in convoy, the Germans had painted the emblem of the Afrika Korps on the side of each lorry, so they were ready for the next push towards that pearl of great price, the Suez Canal.
On the fourth day of capture, we were given a few Army biscuits and the rumour spread that we were to be handed over to the Italians. Food was now becoming a problem to the Germans, for they needed all the food they could get from the dumps in Tobruk, as Rommel's army was now hammering on the doors of Egypt. Those food dumps were of vital importance to Rommel, so it was of vital importance that we were handed over to the allies of the Reich for safekeeping and feeding. Thus, on June 26th, we started moving on. What next?
************************
Barren wastes of rock and sand,
Dry, unfertile desert land,
Spiked wire on every hand,
Prisoner of war.
A hopeless host of angry men,
Croweded together in cage and pen,
Far off it seems from humankind,
Prisoner of war.
Queuing for hours in blistering heat,
Receiving a morsel of bread and meat,
Glad of even scraps to eat,
Prisoner of war.
Ill, unkempt and underfed,
Trading rings and watches for bread,
Chill, sandy shingle for a bed,
Prisoner of war.
Herded together like flocks of sheep,
Bullied and driven from dawn till sleep,
Their hearts filled with hatred deep,
Prisoner of war.
Cut from the news of the outside world,
Sifting the truth from the taunts that are heard,
Silently keeping their flag unfurled,
Prisoner of war.
Striving to keep alive their hope,
Failing at times beyond their scope,
Hugging themselves with rumour and hope,
Prisoner of war.
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