"We had a small light table and chairs and it didn't take too long before we tried out the spiritual bit! Our days were long and boring, the establishment worked on us like mad with the usual questions. Maybe it was the ongoing tension of not knowing how long we would be in prison or whether we would live or die - the usual questions one would ask in our predicament.
One day, Janeck set up a contraption of which we asked questions and it seemed to work like mad on the usual questions! The Spanish captain was skeptical about his answer, which of course was a negative one. Janeck and mine came to the point where we would meet again on a hill somewhere in the middle of Germany. The others were saying that somebody must have put his foot under the table and it was all a bad joke in the worst possible taste. I don't think that happened at all, but it was better so, some started to get worried about the whole affair and Janeck fully agreed to do better and finish it off.
After that incident tempers became short and people flared up at the slightest excuse as if an abstract or evil atmosphere was constantly around us. It could boil down to the fact that when people are confined together in a small space that tempers become frayed or was it something else, a created reaction.
As we took a siesta one afteroon, I was suddenly awakened by terrible screams coming from Zin Zhnn, both Janeck and Reiss were masturbating him and we quickly made them stop such practices. The old captain told them off and Zin Zhnn said he was going to call the guards if further attacks occurred. Somehow, Zin Zhnn got himself out the next day - either he got transported or he really was a ferret after all?
We were all changed to different cells and lost track of each other shortly after that. I was put in the last cell of the block on the same floor touching the stairways of the French quarters. Here was an older and more mature group from different walks of life and mostly from Bordeaux, it seemed. This would top my education and knowledge of this place called Fort Du Ha a good deal.
It was the same kind of cell I had left but with a vault hump in the right hand corner on the window side. This is where the stairs were underneath for the French guards who were contracted out; on the right day, we would have a break out when we found a way to hack through the hump and discover a solution that wouldn't compromise or incriminate the French guards - who would have to be involved.
As it was now, they were feeding us chickens, cigarettes, Lucky Strike, Camels dropped by and for the resistance, bread, meat, chisel and hammer, all through the skylight which we eagerly hauled in. We had long conversations, as well as sent letters and messages. They could easily watch the enemy from this lookout without being seen.
It didn't take long before entering that cell that they took me into their confidence, I had to be taken in by them and trusted, of course! Otherwise you were a goner anyway with the people present as they were; we had as our top leader a man called Carlos who looked like, The Sentimental Agent, one of the best known entrepreneurs of Bordeaux. He was supposed to be the son-in-law of Martial Foch, who supplied the resistance as well as the Germans. We also had Fiesche, a Corsican police inspector, well in with the resistance, he was one of the leaders and also a councillor of renown for his political activities and a genuine Corsican gangster. Our politician, Fiesche was short and strong with a big moustache, this gangster was a James Bond type of man. So, we formed a complete set ready for action. Time was all too short for our schedule now and the Gestapo were trying to get us on to transports.
During this time, I managed to write a letter to my mum and had it sent home by a secret route and it did arrive! My mother still had it at the end of the war and showed it to me. By that letter she was able to ascertain my whereabouts thanks to The Resistance and all those helpful souls.
We were planning the time and date of escape now as we could feel it was becoming more urgent by the minute ......
To be continued ....
Monday, 30 January 2012
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Day 34 - Brave Women singing the "Marseillaise"
"The bars were flatish held together by a traversed pair palming the vertical ones. There was also a wooden box, trapped in front of it, preventing the prisoners from looking down as well as drawing attention to a little light coming in from the sky.
The cells were similar to the underground vaults reminding me of old casemattes we had once found in the woods around Ostend - left by the Spanish to stall their horses. Flush french toilets were added, a convenience not available at Caserne-Boudet. Once a week, we also had communal showers in the old tower, we had to walk in a circle as we showered.. There were lots of guards, a small army around us and within the fort itself.
The first cellar allocated was on the ground floor and was intended for use by select hostages according to the coloured strips on our doors, we found that out later ...
Sometimes, we could hear prisoners being taken away early in the morning. We often heard brave women patriots singing the "Marseillaise". These women helped to boost our moral and pride in the cause, which was all we had left!
One of the inmates of my cell was a tall, thin, broody southerner from the "Midi" Toulon or Marseilles. He had a grey patch in his forelock inherited from father to son from generations back. He had been at "Mers el Kebir", near Oran when the fleet he was aboard had been scuttled by the British, resulting in a lot of wounded and dead. He wasn't very glad about the treatment he was getting but everybody thought it necessary not to fall into German hands with Darlan! Sacrifices had to be made, this was going to be our epitaph, unavoidable circumstances!
During the next weeks, I was taken to the next floor and lost my brooding companion and most of my former inmates. I made new acquaintances and met again with Maxwell, an old Spanish Republican captain, The Gypsy; Reiss, the young Pole, Janeck Paderwski and the last new member Zin Zzn, a most unusual name. Zin Zzn came from Eupan-Malmedy, the small German canton ceded to Belgium after the First World War. Zin Zzn was an unknown factor, a homosexual and we suspected, a ferret, planted amongst us. We were careful not to say anything that would incriminate us when he was around.
The food was worse and I don't know what happened to the Quaker parcels that had been regularly sent to us. We had cheese biscuits at the weekend that must have been donated by the Red Cross. One weekend, due to bad storage, they were hardly edible and stuck in your mouth and could have choked you if one didn't swallow lots of water. The only thing we could do was to stack them behind the box put in front of the bars where we got fresh air. Having forgotten about the biscuits for a few weeks, "Reiss" The Gypsy, tried them again and announced they were okay.
Probably the air and the draught at the bars had taken the badness of the mold out of them. It was like Mana from heaven to us, a miracle! For now, we had so many biscuits, this helped to alleviate our constant hunger,
a bit ....
One day, Maxwell suddenly left us, he was dragged out of the cell and after that we never saw him again, he wasn't released either ....
To be continued ...
The cells were similar to the underground vaults reminding me of old casemattes we had once found in the woods around Ostend - left by the Spanish to stall their horses. Flush french toilets were added, a convenience not available at Caserne-Boudet. Once a week, we also had communal showers in the old tower, we had to walk in a circle as we showered.. There were lots of guards, a small army around us and within the fort itself.
The first cellar allocated was on the ground floor and was intended for use by select hostages according to the coloured strips on our doors, we found that out later ...
Sometimes, we could hear prisoners being taken away early in the morning. We often heard brave women patriots singing the "Marseillaise". These women helped to boost our moral and pride in the cause, which was all we had left!
One of the inmates of my cell was a tall, thin, broody southerner from the "Midi" Toulon or Marseilles. He had a grey patch in his forelock inherited from father to son from generations back. He had been at "Mers el Kebir", near Oran when the fleet he was aboard had been scuttled by the British, resulting in a lot of wounded and dead. He wasn't very glad about the treatment he was getting but everybody thought it necessary not to fall into German hands with Darlan! Sacrifices had to be made, this was going to be our epitaph, unavoidable circumstances!
During the next weeks, I was taken to the next floor and lost my brooding companion and most of my former inmates. I made new acquaintances and met again with Maxwell, an old Spanish Republican captain, The Gypsy; Reiss, the young Pole, Janeck Paderwski and the last new member Zin Zzn, a most unusual name. Zin Zzn came from Eupan-Malmedy, the small German canton ceded to Belgium after the First World War. Zin Zzn was an unknown factor, a homosexual and we suspected, a ferret, planted amongst us. We were careful not to say anything that would incriminate us when he was around.
The food was worse and I don't know what happened to the Quaker parcels that had been regularly sent to us. We had cheese biscuits at the weekend that must have been donated by the Red Cross. One weekend, due to bad storage, they were hardly edible and stuck in your mouth and could have choked you if one didn't swallow lots of water. The only thing we could do was to stack them behind the box put in front of the bars where we got fresh air. Having forgotten about the biscuits for a few weeks, "Reiss" The Gypsy, tried them again and announced they were okay.
Probably the air and the draught at the bars had taken the badness of the mold out of them. It was like Mana from heaven to us, a miracle! For now, we had so many biscuits, this helped to alleviate our constant hunger,
a bit ....
One day, Maxwell suddenly left us, he was dragged out of the cell and after that we never saw him again, he wasn't released either ....
To be continued ...
Friday, 27 January 2012
Day 33 - To me it looked like a place of no escape!
"Everything was coming to an end, we were only a few left. One day "Discipline" took us to a corner of the kitchen. I could see that there was a way to get out, the walls were old like an ancient castle, at a slight angle, and roughly hewn and would be quite easy for someone like me to climb.
As I was studying the walls, I suddenly felt "Discipline's eyes on me and I felt like he was guessing my thoughts. He had a smile on his face, almost daring me to try. That plan would have been alright if I could get away from the inside and had sufficient time to climb unhindered, but with someone watching all the time it would be imposible.
Shortly after that incident a "Secherheitsdienst", security counter intelligence of the Gestapo came to see us to check our papers. We were also inspected as to our general condition and cleanliness, very much like army procedure. When he looked at my hand he said, "that is healed now you can go on transport".
"Discipline" was in charge of the inspection. He spoke to the prisoners very sternly and told them off if he found dirt or any crinkles, like a father figure. The protestant vicar we never so again but somehow I think he had a chat with the S.D. man about us. The vicar was a tall, dark eyed, silent type of a man moving in the mysterious way of mysticism that he portrayed. In contrast, the S.D. man looked silent and strict, mostly sharped face too, a nervous snappy man in movement and manner.
The S.D. man was a prototype of one of the teachers I had know who had turned traitor. To me inquisitors and turn coats seem to inherit the same look and ways of undertakers. Even their uniforms and signs symbolised the dark side of the regime. At the end of the inspection the only thing he said to us, in a shrill croaking executioners voice was, "You lot are due for transportation, first you go to Fort Du-Ha for preparation".
I didn't know whether this move was for better or worse. What I did know was going to transportation would get us out of the rut we were in now and maybe there would be another opportunity to jump or roll off the trains.
It also meant, that after Fort-Du-Ha we would still be alive and well. How much so, after that, was the question!
We departed the same way that we had come in, handcuffed from Caserene-Boudet annex to the old fort of Du-Ha. We were sent to the political section, we entered through a big ancient gate resembling the entrance of a fortress. We then came upon an enormously wide, ugly round tower in the centre, behind which was a square with buildings extending in all directions resembling an octopus.
To me that looked like a place of no escape .....
To be continued
As I was studying the walls, I suddenly felt "Discipline's eyes on me and I felt like he was guessing my thoughts. He had a smile on his face, almost daring me to try. That plan would have been alright if I could get away from the inside and had sufficient time to climb unhindered, but with someone watching all the time it would be imposible.
Shortly after that incident a "Secherheitsdienst", security counter intelligence of the Gestapo came to see us to check our papers. We were also inspected as to our general condition and cleanliness, very much like army procedure. When he looked at my hand he said, "that is healed now you can go on transport".
"Discipline" was in charge of the inspection. He spoke to the prisoners very sternly and told them off if he found dirt or any crinkles, like a father figure. The protestant vicar we never so again but somehow I think he had a chat with the S.D. man about us. The vicar was a tall, dark eyed, silent type of a man moving in the mysterious way of mysticism that he portrayed. In contrast, the S.D. man looked silent and strict, mostly sharped face too, a nervous snappy man in movement and manner.
The S.D. man was a prototype of one of the teachers I had know who had turned traitor. To me inquisitors and turn coats seem to inherit the same look and ways of undertakers. Even their uniforms and signs symbolised the dark side of the regime. At the end of the inspection the only thing he said to us, in a shrill croaking executioners voice was, "You lot are due for transportation, first you go to Fort Du-Ha for preparation".
I didn't know whether this move was for better or worse. What I did know was going to transportation would get us out of the rut we were in now and maybe there would be another opportunity to jump or roll off the trains.
It also meant, that after Fort-Du-Ha we would still be alive and well. How much so, after that, was the question!
We departed the same way that we had come in, handcuffed from Caserene-Boudet annex to the old fort of Du-Ha. We were sent to the political section, we entered through a big ancient gate resembling the entrance of a fortress. We then came upon an enormously wide, ugly round tower in the centre, behind which was a square with buildings extending in all directions resembling an octopus.
To me that looked like a place of no escape .....
To be continued
Day 32 - A tribute to Sophie Scholl
 |
| Source: National Post Vol 14 No. 78 Friday, January 27, 2012 Writer Tony Woolfson |
Thursday, 26 January 2012
Day 31 - Enlightenment!
"One day, in a little cell like room, I became covered all over with big scabs, like Job in the Bible story. Lacking in vitamins I suppose, or the food, I don't know! Maybe it was the fleas, lice and bug bites gone septic but it took its time to show up!
One night, I felt desperate and started meditating and was at the point of giving up when I came closer to God. I even felt ready to confess to any priest and ask forgiveness for sins I hadn't even committed!
We were given time off to see a German priest in the chapel across from our cells. Of course, we were closely guarded. A man in a German uniform gave us a sermon and some asked if he could do anything to help us, to which he responded, he would try. I am afraid the man could do nothing at all, it was out of his hands but he certainly tried.
Then in all this, my scabs fell off, in one night, by themselves and what a relief that was more divine than any priest or traditional taboo could have achieved for me.
Divine, I believe, because in all my efforts to prove it to myself and understand I realized that there was a force at work that stood above it all and everybody was bound to do his or her duty to it, according to his choice, "To Each his Own.................."
To be continued
One night, I felt desperate and started meditating and was at the point of giving up when I came closer to God. I even felt ready to confess to any priest and ask forgiveness for sins I hadn't even committed!
We were given time off to see a German priest in the chapel across from our cells. Of course, we were closely guarded. A man in a German uniform gave us a sermon and some asked if he could do anything to help us, to which he responded, he would try. I am afraid the man could do nothing at all, it was out of his hands but he certainly tried.
Then in all this, my scabs fell off, in one night, by themselves and what a relief that was more divine than any priest or traditional taboo could have achieved for me.
Divine, I believe, because in all my efforts to prove it to myself and understand I realized that there was a force at work that stood above it all and everybody was bound to do his or her duty to it, according to his choice, "To Each his Own.................."
To be continued
Day 30 - Buchenwald medal and picture!
Picture of Louis on South African identity card during 1970.
Plus picture of his Buchenwald concentration camp medal.
On the fabric is a metal part with symbolizes that he was in two different camps, Auschwitz and Buchenwald as well as in a prison near Bordeaux, France for approximately a 4 year period during the German occupation.
Day 29 - A Tribute to Maxwell and Others Brave People!
"One day one of the guards we called "Discipline" put the radio onto the B.B.C and walked away leaving us to listen. By this time, my hand had healed nicely and I had no after effects from it, I could move it. !!!
The last guard was younger than the previous ones and his name I can't recall. One day he was very upset after returning from leave as most of his family had perished and he had also been reprimanded by his superiors for allowing thirty inmates to escape from the top floor. They took the bricks away from the window, bent the bars upwards and used their sheets knotted together in strips to get to the street below and flee. This was done dodging between the patrols and the guards at the gate.
Only a few were brought back, the rest got away. So the guards continued to tap bars and watched us like mad. Nevertheless, one day my luck came! We found ourselves cleaning the anti-room used as a store room near the street. It had no bars or bricks built in and very dirty, as we swept the dust began to swirl upwards, so the guard opened the window for air. At the same time, some mice were disturbed and they came out from among the furniture as we moved in with our brooms. Like a cat on the chase he and my mate were after the mice. They took off towards the passage with the guard and my mate in hot pursuit.
I was alone standing straight in front of the window. Looking outside to my left and right I saw just the sentry at the big gate returning. I waited for a chance for him to turn away from my view.
My opportunity vanished with the return of my guard. He was very flustered and blowing from his run with the mice. Looking at me and then at the window he quickly realised what could have happened and shut it. He went very red in the face and took us quickly to our rooms, ignoring everything else. I bet he had a shock. He wasn't quite sure of anything, neither was I. We both had our regrets, I am sure, for our failures. Such opportunities only come once they say.
I remained there for 9 months and I began to think they had forgotten about me as everybody was going out on regular transports, all before me. There was only a couple like me left. In between the big room and the soup run I continued my education. We had nothing else left except professors and members of the diplomatic corps as well as a few others. The professors took great delight in teaching us in the evenings and weekends when most of the guards were off duty.
The guards arranged for us to have the Red Cross and Quaker packets distributed and we had competitions as to who could produce the best looking cake in the straight bowl. It was a mixture of French bread blended with the ingredients in the packet, from jelly to all kinds of biscuits. It was amazing what came out of it, like that we had an interest and made it last. One poor soul from Lithuania could only hold out for a short while as he was famished and then he set upon it like a wild animal.
The bugs were still unbearable and I saw one person wrapping himself up like a mummy, only to make it worse. The bugs got in between and underneath the material. He had big blobs really swollen up to an enormous size and he cried like a child. We couldn't console him his mind was deranged. Listening to the professors talking about Ghengis Khan, Kublar Khan and the light of Asia Buddha brought him back into the fold with us!
Then there was Professor Beck from, The University of Tarbes, talking about his re-generated potatoes, produced in his lab. The Nazi's were after his work on potatoes as well as he studies of locusts. These studies started just before the war in Mauritania and Senegal. He made an effort to farm the locusts and experimented with making them sedentary so that he could produce an ideal food from them, a kind of flour meal.
To top it all, there was Maxwell of Brussels talking nine languages fluently and teaching us the rudiments of them all. We even went as far back as Sanskrit with him. There was a real Gypsy amongst us too, looking more like a Sikh. He was taken as a Sikh on the frontier of the Pyrenees, unable to explain or write in our languages he was a suspect and they took no chances with him.
Within a week, Maxwell was able to converse with our Gypsy in his own Romany. He started to teach him to read and write in our language. One day, Maxwell disappeared on one of the transports and as he was Jewish there was not much hope for him!
At that time, I didn't know what happened to the Gypsy but we met again later. Maxwell left us a statement on the real origins of the Gypsies. He said that they were an early nomadic tribe from the Punjab regions who travelled westward towards Europe after the big migrations of the Indo Europeans.
I also met a Polish cadet, Janeck who tried to cross the mountains dressed like a boy scout. He had made his way from Poland to Greece via Transylvania where he was eventually captured. Later on, he told me that he had killed a couple of Germans and changed his name from Pareuski to Borofski. When the Germans caught him, they let his beard grow for three days, which proved that he was older than the boy he tried to make himself out to be, so that was it for him"
To be continued ...
The last guard was younger than the previous ones and his name I can't recall. One day he was very upset after returning from leave as most of his family had perished and he had also been reprimanded by his superiors for allowing thirty inmates to escape from the top floor. They took the bricks away from the window, bent the bars upwards and used their sheets knotted together in strips to get to the street below and flee. This was done dodging between the patrols and the guards at the gate.
Only a few were brought back, the rest got away. So the guards continued to tap bars and watched us like mad. Nevertheless, one day my luck came! We found ourselves cleaning the anti-room used as a store room near the street. It had no bars or bricks built in and very dirty, as we swept the dust began to swirl upwards, so the guard opened the window for air. At the same time, some mice were disturbed and they came out from among the furniture as we moved in with our brooms. Like a cat on the chase he and my mate were after the mice. They took off towards the passage with the guard and my mate in hot pursuit.
I was alone standing straight in front of the window. Looking outside to my left and right I saw just the sentry at the big gate returning. I waited for a chance for him to turn away from my view.
My opportunity vanished with the return of my guard. He was very flustered and blowing from his run with the mice. Looking at me and then at the window he quickly realised what could have happened and shut it. He went very red in the face and took us quickly to our rooms, ignoring everything else. I bet he had a shock. He wasn't quite sure of anything, neither was I. We both had our regrets, I am sure, for our failures. Such opportunities only come once they say.
I remained there for 9 months and I began to think they had forgotten about me as everybody was going out on regular transports, all before me. There was only a couple like me left. In between the big room and the soup run I continued my education. We had nothing else left except professors and members of the diplomatic corps as well as a few others. The professors took great delight in teaching us in the evenings and weekends when most of the guards were off duty.
The guards arranged for us to have the Red Cross and Quaker packets distributed and we had competitions as to who could produce the best looking cake in the straight bowl. It was a mixture of French bread blended with the ingredients in the packet, from jelly to all kinds of biscuits. It was amazing what came out of it, like that we had an interest and made it last. One poor soul from Lithuania could only hold out for a short while as he was famished and then he set upon it like a wild animal.
The bugs were still unbearable and I saw one person wrapping himself up like a mummy, only to make it worse. The bugs got in between and underneath the material. He had big blobs really swollen up to an enormous size and he cried like a child. We couldn't console him his mind was deranged. Listening to the professors talking about Ghengis Khan, Kublar Khan and the light of Asia Buddha brought him back into the fold with us!
Then there was Professor Beck from, The University of Tarbes, talking about his re-generated potatoes, produced in his lab. The Nazi's were after his work on potatoes as well as he studies of locusts. These studies started just before the war in Mauritania and Senegal. He made an effort to farm the locusts and experimented with making them sedentary so that he could produce an ideal food from them, a kind of flour meal.
To top it all, there was Maxwell of Brussels talking nine languages fluently and teaching us the rudiments of them all. We even went as far back as Sanskrit with him. There was a real Gypsy amongst us too, looking more like a Sikh. He was taken as a Sikh on the frontier of the Pyrenees, unable to explain or write in our languages he was a suspect and they took no chances with him.
Within a week, Maxwell was able to converse with our Gypsy in his own Romany. He started to teach him to read and write in our language. One day, Maxwell disappeared on one of the transports and as he was Jewish there was not much hope for him!
At that time, I didn't know what happened to the Gypsy but we met again later. Maxwell left us a statement on the real origins of the Gypsies. He said that they were an early nomadic tribe from the Punjab regions who travelled westward towards Europe after the big migrations of the Indo Europeans.
I also met a Polish cadet, Janeck who tried to cross the mountains dressed like a boy scout. He had made his way from Poland to Greece via Transylvania where he was eventually captured. Later on, he told me that he had killed a couple of Germans and changed his name from Pareuski to Borofski. When the Germans caught him, they let his beard grow for three days, which proved that he was older than the boy he tried to make himself out to be, so that was it for him"
To be continued ...
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