Twenty-two
It’s late afternoon when we arrive back at Lamsdorf, and there’s chaos in the stalag. Although the guards are still at the gate, there’s none of the usual form filling and bureaucracy. Nobody to look me up and down and tick off Algernon Cousins in their book. We can hear the sound of artillery fire, loud and close.
“It won’t be long now,” one man says with relish.
We’re directed to a hut that looks as if a whirlwind has gone through it, with clothing and even tins of food strewn all over the bunks and the floor. There are books, which Max begins to pick up. We’re told that a thousand men were given an hour’s notice the previous night and marched from the camp, out into the snow. The plan is to send the rest of us out in groups of one or two thousand.
Ralph remembers being told there could be thirteen thousand British prisoners at any one time in Lamsdorf and twelve thousand more out at work camps. “Twenty-five thousand Brits,” says Ralph, “and God knows how many of all the other nationalities. That’s a big evacuation. Though I suppose they had practice with Warsaw.”
The prisoners who remain are making hurried preparations in case they are one of the groups that will leave tonight. We watch as packing cases are torn apart to make sledges. Shirts are buttoned up to make rough backpacks that bulge with tins. Frank meets some of his old friends and plans to march with them. So our old foursome is together again, though Bill and Max don’t look at each other or speak. We drop our kits onto one of the abandoned bunks.
“We haven’t got much time,” says Bill. I’ve never seen him take charge before, but suddenly there’s a need for his practicality rather than Ralph’s and Max’s book learning. “We’ll need a sledge to take as much food as we can pull. I can do that. We used to make them in the factory at Mankendorf.” He begins to yank the slats from one of the abandoned top bunks. “I’ll take these to the carpenter’s shop. Ralph, can you take Cousins and get food? Max, are you with us?”
Max looks at all the strangers bustling around us. Ralph says, “Please?” and I lay my hand on his sleeve. Max looks from me to Ralph and nods.
“Warm clothes and blankets,” Bill continues. “Find anything you can which might stop us from freezing if they really go through with this madness. We should hide our bags up here while we’re all away.”
We shove our kit bags and blankets up into the rafters, while Bill continues to pull timber from the bunks, and then Ralph and I run to the hut where Red Cross parcels are distributed. Normally they’re handed out through the window, but now the door is wide-open and prisoners are taking as much as they can carry. The lazy-eyed guard is at the door, but he just watches. A fight breaks out as two men try to grab the same parcel. The guard steps in and fires a warning shot. Other people are ripping open the parcels and selecting food. One man is stuffing his pockets with cigarettes. I carry three parcels and Ralph carries five, piled up in front of us. They are heavy and awkward.
Back in the hut Max is saying good-bye to his little library of books. He’s managed to find us an extra blanket each, an assortment of other clothing from the stores and a pile of coats.
“They were issuing Dutch and Belgian greatcoats,” he says. “Must have had them there all the time, the bastards. I brought us one each. They aren’t waxed like ours, but might do as extra blankets.”
He addresses Ralph. “They say that men who aren’t able to walk are to be left behind and taken by train. Do you think…?”
Ralph shakes his head. “I know my feet are bad, but I’ll keep up as long as I can. I’d rather take my chances with you.”
I wonder how far he can possibly walk on his damaged feet, and think perhaps we could pull him on the sledge.
Max says, “The guards have been making the prisoners here run laps to get them fitter. They must be planning a long walk.”
“We’re fit,” says Ralph. “Think how we’ve been working in that quarry. And we’ve been better fed than the prisoners here. We’ll be all right.” He doesn’t even sound convinced himself.
Bill comes back, triumphant, with a well-made sledge. I’m so proud of him, and clap my hands spontaneously. Even Max looks reluctantly admiring.
“One bloke offered me a hundred fags for it,” Bill says. “And someone else tried to steal it from me. I had to smack him one.”
“So much for universal brotherhood,” mutters Max.
“We shouldn’t try to carry too much,” cuts in Bill. “We aren’t strong enough, and the weather’s terrible. It’s going to be hard enough just to walk. Let’s get everything we can on here, and then have a brew.”
As we pile the parcels onto the sledge, Max asks Ralph, “Did you hear anything about where they might be taking us?”
Bill says, “One guard says it’s direct orders from the führer. They don’t want to leave us behind to join up with the Russians.”
“Blimey,” says Ralph, “I don’t want to fight for the Russians.”
“You didn’t hear the other rumor, then?” asks Max. We all look up and he hesitates. “I’m not sure if I should say.”
“We’ll hear it sooner or later,” Ralph points out.
“OK, well, they’re saying Hitler plans to use us as a human shield for his last stand. All the allied prisoners from here and the work camps and the other prison camps. Sixty thousand Russian prisoners, they say. That might make three hundred thousand prisoners in all. That would be quite a shield.”
We work in silence, tying our kit bags to the sledge with some rope Bill found. It makes sense of course, but I’m flooded with despair and fear. Have I really come this far with Bill for us to be used as a human shield?
Max continues. “They also say Hitler issued an order that we should march without trousers, to stop us trying to escape, but the camp commandant’s defied that.”
“Thank God for small mercies,” says Bill.
Once the sledge is full we cover it with our blankets and the spare greatcoats Max found, tying it all tightly. Bill uses the last of the rope to form a long cord for us to pull it by.
Each of us will carry a kit bag with the blowers, a day’s rations, some fags and soap as currency, some toilet paper and any personal items. We’ve left out some food to eat tonight: the last of Berta’s bread from the quarry, some margarine and some tinned sardines. I put Berta’s plum brandy and the raisins in my kit bag.
“I never liked sardines,” says Ralph, “but we’ll need the protein.”
Bill raises his tin mug of tea. “To Scotty,” he says. “And to us.” We all drink.
Ralph adds, “I hope Rosa gets away and finds the bloke she loves.”
“Did you notice?” says Max. “They were Jewish. The Rauchbachs.”
We all look astonished. “On the back door of the house,” he says. “They’d sanded it down and painted over where it’d been, but it was the shape of a mezuzah.”
“A what?” asks Bill.
“Mezuzah. A finger-sized scroll with verses from the Bible. Religious Jews have them on every doorpost in the house. It’s a kind of prayer for protection. Fat lot of good it’s done.”