In August 1944, I was assigned to Middle or Mi-bau, the Eastern part of the center building still under construction for Gouzloff; there were trenches that had to be made for strong, thick cables, roads and small annexes. The roadworks were called strassen bau Entw - short for Entwalterung).
All this work was performed under the close scrutiny and control of a patrolling S.S. We were located near the last guard fence with the gate end towards Weimer. The work force was supplemented by Ukranian, S.S. blackshirts - somehow, they would try to socialize with us and share their small cobs or sweet corn, which were the results of the latest experiments by the German food specialists.
This fraternization was becoming dangerously close to a catastrophe for all of us. There was a particular S.S. guard who was continually sneaking up on us -trying to catch somebody - the prisoners by preference! This was to obtain his three day vacation bonus which could be obtained by finding reasons to punish a victim for some form of disobedience.
By now, we had all been getting over-confident about using our hiding place to eat the rations we had saved to absolve our hunger pangs. Somehow, we may have been given away or by using a signal the S.S. guard might have been informed! The blackshirts had a victim ready in the trap.
So, it happened when my turn came - I tasted that coal tar jam and suddenly as if from nowhere bees appeared. I had never seen or noticed them in that place before. Just as surprising to me, a bad product from the S.S. popped up in the unfinished doorway. Giving me a grin of satisfaction now with his sadistic nature being worked up to a peak.
I hardened myself for what was to come but also knew that I had to contain my violent strength, to be used, if necessary, at the end as a last resort - similar to what I had done before. Slowly, he came to stand in front of me, his legs wide apart, studying my badges and in the meantime putting on his gloves. He gave another strange, close look to my red triangle with my nationality and he was now ready, so was I!
All in strict orders, he then told me to stand straight to attention and not to move. With his full strength and weight behind it he swung his fist in a right hook and then told me to stand to attention again, giving me a left punch now, on both occasions right on the jaw.
I went halfway down on every swing but straightened up again for the next. He knew I was tough and hard and I saw amazement in his eyes now, more in admiration than a further challenge - probably he was hurt too and tired out. As a last resort, he picked up a plank which was laying nearby. The plank was about arms length and about two inches thick.
Grinning again, probably with self-gratification and facing me full frontal again he indicated towards the entrance opening that was to be for the door. He told me to make a run for it as soon as he gave the order. I had to by-pass him of course - the obstruction would make my run more difficult.
His game was worse than cat and mouse play and all the dice were on his side but I persevered. There was no choice but to endure what I was about to receive. So, on his yelling, I started on my way, not bumping into him but with the awful result of my ducking to the right - I got the full impact of the plank in the center of my back.
By now, my sense of feeling had gone numb as on previous occasions during my escapes and also because of my state of being, which was as hard as the plank itself by now. The instrument of my torture had snapped without him having to throw it at all. When he applied the following six beats they came to be only half as hard as the first one.
He appeared to be astonished and told me to get on with my job in the trench at the same time taking a long last look at me. I picked up my pick again and worked strenuously as if nothing had happened until he was very well out of sight.
Then suddenly the reactions were setting in and I could feel the pain in my jaws and could hardly move them after a while - my back was not too bad. A boiling anger for revenge was the next thing that swelled up in me - I never did meet up with him again until he was killed at liberation time.
For myself, I came to the conclusion that if I had to, with more toughening up I could probably walk through a wall. The sores gave me trouble for a couple more days. That incident taught me not to trust anybody, not even for a few seconds - that was the best alternative/attitude I could take.
In the dawn of the next morning, while waiting our turn to get out of the gate and with our solemn heads bobbing up and down we were marched until we were facing the sunrise. At the same time, being watched for the slightest mistake by the angels of death - the music driving us by might or force!
"Today, I found the following quote and thought it was very relevant to some parts of my Dad's Memoirs. In particular, I was very touched by my Dad's recollection of the little girls at Auschwitz, they knew they were going to die and threw bread over the fence towards my Dad's group.
"We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms -- to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way." -- Viktor Frankl
To be continued ...
All this work was performed under the close scrutiny and control of a patrolling S.S. We were located near the last guard fence with the gate end towards Weimer. The work force was supplemented by Ukranian, S.S. blackshirts - somehow, they would try to socialize with us and share their small cobs or sweet corn, which were the results of the latest experiments by the German food specialists.
This fraternization was becoming dangerously close to a catastrophe for all of us. There was a particular S.S. guard who was continually sneaking up on us -trying to catch somebody - the prisoners by preference! This was to obtain his three day vacation bonus which could be obtained by finding reasons to punish a victim for some form of disobedience.
By now, we had all been getting over-confident about using our hiding place to eat the rations we had saved to absolve our hunger pangs. Somehow, we may have been given away or by using a signal the S.S. guard might have been informed! The blackshirts had a victim ready in the trap.
So, it happened when my turn came - I tasted that coal tar jam and suddenly as if from nowhere bees appeared. I had never seen or noticed them in that place before. Just as surprising to me, a bad product from the S.S. popped up in the unfinished doorway. Giving me a grin of satisfaction now with his sadistic nature being worked up to a peak.
I hardened myself for what was to come but also knew that I had to contain my violent strength, to be used, if necessary, at the end as a last resort - similar to what I had done before. Slowly, he came to stand in front of me, his legs wide apart, studying my badges and in the meantime putting on his gloves. He gave another strange, close look to my red triangle with my nationality and he was now ready, so was I!
All in strict orders, he then told me to stand straight to attention and not to move. With his full strength and weight behind it he swung his fist in a right hook and then told me to stand to attention again, giving me a left punch now, on both occasions right on the jaw.
I went halfway down on every swing but straightened up again for the next. He knew I was tough and hard and I saw amazement in his eyes now, more in admiration than a further challenge - probably he was hurt too and tired out. As a last resort, he picked up a plank which was laying nearby. The plank was about arms length and about two inches thick.
Grinning again, probably with self-gratification and facing me full frontal again he indicated towards the entrance opening that was to be for the door. He told me to make a run for it as soon as he gave the order. I had to by-pass him of course - the obstruction would make my run more difficult.
His game was worse than cat and mouse play and all the dice were on his side but I persevered. There was no choice but to endure what I was about to receive. So, on his yelling, I started on my way, not bumping into him but with the awful result of my ducking to the right - I got the full impact of the plank in the center of my back.
By now, my sense of feeling had gone numb as on previous occasions during my escapes and also because of my state of being, which was as hard as the plank itself by now. The instrument of my torture had snapped without him having to throw it at all. When he applied the following six beats they came to be only half as hard as the first one.
He appeared to be astonished and told me to get on with my job in the trench at the same time taking a long last look at me. I picked up my pick again and worked strenuously as if nothing had happened until he was very well out of sight.
Then suddenly the reactions were setting in and I could feel the pain in my jaws and could hardly move them after a while - my back was not too bad. A boiling anger for revenge was the next thing that swelled up in me - I never did meet up with him again until he was killed at liberation time.
For myself, I came to the conclusion that if I had to, with more toughening up I could probably walk through a wall. The sores gave me trouble for a couple more days. That incident taught me not to trust anybody, not even for a few seconds - that was the best alternative/attitude I could take.
In the dawn of the next morning, while waiting our turn to get out of the gate and with our solemn heads bobbing up and down we were marched until we were facing the sunrise. At the same time, being watched for the slightest mistake by the angels of death - the music driving us by might or force!
"Today, I found the following quote and thought it was very relevant to some parts of my Dad's Memoirs. In particular, I was very touched by my Dad's recollection of the little girls at Auschwitz, they knew they were going to die and threw bread over the fence towards my Dad's group.
"We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms -- to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way." -- Viktor Frankl
To be continued ...
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