Survivor of the Long March

Sometimes we settled down in the evening and the guards went off for a while and then reappeared suddenly. They rushed in, shouting ‘Raus, Raus,’ and cleared us all outside. We had to stand in the cold for ages before allowing us back in.

Have seen quite a number of Yanks now

and they look pretty bad.

New men were joining our group including Poles, French, Belgians and Americans and others. Some told us how their guards had run and off and left them so they went looking for another group to join and found us. We listened to the latest news and they told us where they had been and what they’d seen; many tales of horror. I think we were luckier than most from the sound of things. Prisoners beaten by guards and men caught in bomb blasts; civilians shot trying to help POWs and their bodies left by the road. They had slept in pig sties and horse stalls with hundreds of other men and worked like us to clear roads and railway lines.

Everything was chaotic. We knew the war was in its final stages but it didn’t feel like it; we were caught slap bang in the middle. I knew it could still end badly. I could be killed by a British or American bomber; get a bullet through my head from one of the crazy German guards. Or caught in crossfire and shot by a member of the Red Army.

Yanks billet bombed

About this time we saw small planes going over dropping propaganda leaflets like a sudden shower of giant snowflakes. They were in many languages, saying things like ‘For you this war is over’ and telling people to surrender. I wish they had dropped some food parcels for us instead.

Working on bombed area (station) cleaning up.

Two more of our men passed away

We arrived on the outskirts of Stendal, a city half way between Hannover and Berlin, a few days after an intense period of Allied bombing. There were houses and factory buildings half-damaged, others in complete ruin. Roads were blocked with debris and overturned vehicles. There was a suffocating damp smell of sulphur hanging in the air. We marched on – this long, straggly line of dirty, dishevelled, crippled men with a cart clattering along behind; we were lucky still to have one. You could hear the sound of our boots crunching over the ground covered in layers of smashed stones, broken glass and brick dust. There were people bent over, picking through the rubble or trying to clear path ways but they didn’t even bother to look up when they heard us approaching.

This didn’t look at all promising. Was there any safe place to stay? Where would we find anything to eat? We were approaching yet another bombed-out building when the guards signalled us to stop. They went off to take a look round the factory site with its smashed windows and damaged roof. When they came back they herded us towards the rear section which was reasonably intact. I kept an eye on what was left of the roof while checking where I put my feet on broken glass and twisted bits of metal.

We picked our way through the rubble and found a decent spot to settle in. The place looked as though it had been used as a shelter before as there were the remains of fires and rubbish lying around. Nothing there to eat – we checked. The guards went off as usual to see what was going on and look for food. I hoped we were going stay for a few days so we could have a good rest and get back our strength. We were exhausted after another long day walking. Once we sat down we really didn’t want to get up again.

About half an hour later the guards came running in shouting, ‘Raus. Raus,’ – out, out. Oh, no, not again. Up to their nasty tricks. Why couldn’t they leave us in peace? We struggled onto our feet and limped back outside. We were marched at gunpoint in the dusky twilight about half a mile away to the railway station. There was a lot going on there as German soldiers, locals and prisoners were busy clearing bricks, stones and timbers from a recently bombed area.

Then those familiar words: ‘Schnell, schnell!’ – quick, quick, ‘Arbeiten!’ – work, as the guards prodded us with their rifles. We went off in various directions to join groups here and there, moving piles of rubble and clearing the tracks. It reminded me of the quarry as I picked up stones and bricks with my bare hands to pass along a line of men to waiting trucks in the sidings. An hour or two later as it got too dark to work, a whistle blew and we stopped and I followed everybody away from the station. We lined up in a square and got a bit of bread and some soup from the back of a van. We slept well that night back in our factory billet.

Worked carried on the next day. We marched out again, passing the railway station where the clearance work was still going on and continued further along the line. ‘Schnell! Schnell!’ again, and as we rounded a bend, we saw ahead what had happened. A train had derailed and its engine and cattle trucks were lying on their side with one upside down. It was probably transporting supplies because the doors had slid apart and it was full of cardboard boxes, the size of a small shoe box, many spilling out onto the tracks.

Some of the boxes were open and we could see hundreds of these jet black biscuits identical to Spratt’s dog biscuits, inside and scattered along the tracks. We didn’t know what they were. Some men grabbed some and stuffed them into their pockets, presumably to keep for later.

As we helped to clear the boxes and dump them at the side of the line, we looked more closely at the biscuits.

‘What d’you think, Jimmy?’ Sid asked.

‘Don’t touch ’em.’

‘Why not?’

‘Just look at them,’ said Laurie. ‘They’re all black. Horrible.’

‘I’ve eaten charcoal biscuits,’ said Sid. ‘They were black and horrible but they got rid of my wind.’

‘We’ve eaten worse,’ I said. I didn’t like the look of them either but I was starving and was tempted.

‘No. Not worth the risk. Could be anything,’ Jimmy said. So that was it. Jimmy knew best.

We had no idea what they were made from or their intended use and we agreed not to touch them, however hungry we were. If I had been on my own like some of the other chaps, the loners or those with only one mate to look out for them, then perhaps I would have tried one. Just one, to see what it tasted like. But I didn’t. Common sense prevailed. We hadn’t come this far to go and do something stupid now.

Because when we woke the next morning we found five of our men had passed away in the night. We knew it was the biscuits. I hadn’t heard a thing but others said they had been disturbed by noises, the sound of somebody retching and vomiting. Two of the dead were friends from our company, one the vicar’s son who had stood next but one to me in the back row of the camp photo. What a waste!

After another day’s work we were on the move again. Before we left we had the chance to bury our two chaps and help bury another nearby. The other two men had to be left behind where they died. Laurie and I managed to get hold of a fork and spade and we dug two shallow graves as best we could in a woody area just near the road. The dead men still wore their identity dog tags round their necks so Sid broke each one in two, took one half and left the other with the body. We lifted our friends into the graves and covered them with earth and rubble. With each spade full of soil we prayed for their souls to rest in peace; and silently thanked our lucky stars for being alive.

We were sad leaving our comrades behind. Sid carried those dog tags back home with him and sent them on to the War Office.

Not long after this, Sid collapsed.

* * *

It was about this time, at my lowest point, that I sat down one night and wrote my God Help Us letter about all the things that had happened to us since leaving our camp. Sid had been taken off to one of the stalags nearby and we were now just three – Jimmy, Laurie and me. Who would be next? All I could hear were sirens wailing, planes droning and the sound of not so distant explosions. I felt the ground trembling under my feet. Was this it? Was this what the end of the world was like? ‘God help us,’ I said.

Jimmy lent me a stub of pencil and somebody gave me a sheet of lined note paper. We were all really scared and desperate. Would we survive this and get home and see our families? Would I ever see my mother or