NEW READERS , SCROLL DOWN TO DAY 1 FOR AN INTRODUCTION!
This is blog 42 of 42!
"As we were now in Germany, the S.S. were assisted by some added German police. The mad counting and the bigger complement of guards made it look like a kind of Welcome Society - showing us what they stood for. An experience never to be forgotten for those who would come back!
Now, the continuous rolling and the terrible stink and mess of our confinement started to take its toll. Standing like sardines in a tin we had to somehow make room for each other. Some prisoners most have been lying on each other or sitting between each other's legs. Also, a place had to be made for people to relieve themselves. At some stations, when the situation got too bad and after hearing the crying for water, some foreign workers passed in cups of water and in turn we all had a couple of sips from it. This is what happened in my wagon - I don't know what happened in the other wagons.
One of the old fellows, whom I vaguely recognized from the Bordeaux transport looked at me pitifully, he had a big weeping infected cut on his head and with his eyes wide open told me by look, you were right, we should have escaped en masse when our strength and means were at their best. I was continually thinking the same thing too. Things were becoming awfully remote now as the train moved on. The mention of the word, "Shweinhunden" (swine herd)! - which I had first heard when the counting took place was far behind us.
What was the next thing in store for us - it didn't take long for us to find out as we kept rolling along. We heard the waves of aeroplanes overhead and the flak but nothing came near enough to bomb us, which I more than half wished for - never mind the casualties, it would be a chance!
We felt that a bombing would be the best thing that could befall us. No such luck, we kept rolling along until we were half-way through Germany. I figured we must have been somewhere in Prussia by now. We came to a long stop and went backwards until we were out of the way and waiting along a side track. Indifferent by now, we couldn't have cared less.
The tracks had to be kept free and the dying had to be kept on the train!!!! When the train started moving again it was eastwards. Through the opening we started noticing names like Leipzig - so most likely the stopover had been Weimer.
I started feeling ill now with stomach cramps. Damn that sausage, it must have contained a lot of sodium or something similar - I was also feeling very hungry and had a terrible thirst. There was only a few people around me still standing up by now taking it in turns to get some space. One of them started rubbing my stomach to relieve the pain.
After than I fell asleep for a while, an uneasy sleep with dreams of running water from reservoirs over dams and weirs in between containing very nice, clear, cool, fresh water. My thirst was really becoming a problem more than anything else.
The space in the wagon was minimal and it felt too stuffy to breath properly anymore ...
To be continued ...
Sunday, 5 February 2012
Saturday, 4 February 2012
Day 41 - A Special Sausage to Dehydrate Us!
New viewers, scroll down to Day 1 for Introduction/Explanation of this blog.
"We waited the whole night through in a cold brick building just sitting around dozing. There was a bright full moon and I remember I had a sinus headache with a chill. The following morning it was better, because from now on one could forget about any treatment or relief. You just had to grin and bear it, for better or worse, with anticipation of greater suffering more often than not.
After being marched off we were herded back for a repeat performance and pushed into over full goods wagons just off the rail tracks of the station. It was a very isolated place and we were all given a special sausage which was treated with a chemical to dehydrate us. We found that out soon after eating it. The speedy elimination process had started now!
The crush in the wagons was so tight, we had no room to sit down, everything was hermetically closed, no toilets and just before pushing the doors shut on us, like in a big coffin a tall German Officer, S.S., thin and stalky, like a bean stalk, with a face to match it, with the internal self imposed grin; screeched Bon Voyage and with a big gesture slammed the doors on us, drawing and clanging the bolt. That's exactly how it must feel to go the slaughter house!
The train began to roll steadily along and we quickly got the trap doors open, a little at a time in one corner, for more air, somebody always had a knife and as in our case, pencil and paper. It was time to drop and pass messages before we came to the border with Germany. At this point we were all still a bit perky!
It was the twenty sixth of April, 1944.
We figured the transport to be circa at one thousand eight hundred men and we did not have the slightest idea where we were going - "Quo Vadis", one hundred and twenty per wagon, some were bigger wagons than others, nothing to drink or eat - just the terrible sausage, which we soon learned not to touch, some did in desperation, but we all had tried some of it before, of course.
With a bit of luck we managed to get some messages out and with a bit more luck they would be picked up along the way - the train was followed by Resistance members who walked along after any transport. I believe we were followed all the way by air on our 4 day journey.
Before we crossed the German frontier we were counted with sticks and the bashing team got going at it in great force. They really let go! Some prisoners weren't quick enough at jumping out and back and received gashes to their heads that were deep and bled profusely, a real pity to look at
them ............
To be continued ...
"We waited the whole night through in a cold brick building just sitting around dozing. There was a bright full moon and I remember I had a sinus headache with a chill. The following morning it was better, because from now on one could forget about any treatment or relief. You just had to grin and bear it, for better or worse, with anticipation of greater suffering more often than not.
After being marched off we were herded back for a repeat performance and pushed into over full goods wagons just off the rail tracks of the station. It was a very isolated place and we were all given a special sausage which was treated with a chemical to dehydrate us. We found that out soon after eating it. The speedy elimination process had started now!
The crush in the wagons was so tight, we had no room to sit down, everything was hermetically closed, no toilets and just before pushing the doors shut on us, like in a big coffin a tall German Officer, S.S., thin and stalky, like a bean stalk, with a face to match it, with the internal self imposed grin; screeched Bon Voyage and with a big gesture slammed the doors on us, drawing and clanging the bolt. That's exactly how it must feel to go the slaughter house!
The train began to roll steadily along and we quickly got the trap doors open, a little at a time in one corner, for more air, somebody always had a knife and as in our case, pencil and paper. It was time to drop and pass messages before we came to the border with Germany. At this point we were all still a bit perky!
It was the twenty sixth of April, 1944.
We figured the transport to be circa at one thousand eight hundred men and we did not have the slightest idea where we were going - "Quo Vadis", one hundred and twenty per wagon, some were bigger wagons than others, nothing to drink or eat - just the terrible sausage, which we soon learned not to touch, some did in desperation, but we all had tried some of it before, of course.
With a bit of luck we managed to get some messages out and with a bit more luck they would be picked up along the way - the train was followed by Resistance members who walked along after any transport. I believe we were followed all the way by air on our 4 day journey.
Before we crossed the German frontier we were counted with sticks and the bashing team got going at it in great force. They really let go! Some prisoners weren't quick enough at jumping out and back and received gashes to their heads that were deep and bled profusely, a real pity to look at
them ............
To be continued ...
Thursday, 2 February 2012
Day 40 - Nacht und Nebel - The Night of the Mist!
"In this manner we carried rolling on until we reached Compiegne. One might as well say, that all roads seemed to lead to Compiegne instead of to Rome. The usual groups of young German soldiers were waiting for us and we were escorted by them through town. The inhabitants were looking on now, for what must have seemed to them to be a common occurence. There was nowhere for us to run!
Underneath the soldier's formidable helmets and judging by the look in their eyes the indoctrination machine had done its job very thoroughly! We were the absolute baddies for them and they were definitely the ultimate baddies for us. This is what total war had brought us to.
After having been inside various places for nine months it was a relief to me to be in open fields and at a higher elevation. We entered the trial camp where they sorted us out for unknown transportation, most certainly to be to Germany. We had a look at the situation and realized that we had lost our liberty, which was outside the barbed wire fence. There was lots of fresh air and water to wash, not too much to eat, even though we were given some work to do. Meeting old and new acquaintances, it was more like a prisoner of war camp.
At this point, we liked to believe that the allied landings were near to fruition but this was mostly wishful thinking. By now, we knew that the Germans were tied down on the Eastern Front and in retreat, allied planes flew over us daily on their way to Germany. The U.S.A. was also now involved in the war.
Some work was handed out regarding the rubble of some buildings that were being demolished. I noticed the bricks being loaded on the carts of two Polish farmers, pulled by horses, with only two old German guards. I thought maybe there was a possibility of getting into the cart and getting the inmates to cover me up with old bricks.
My plan was that once out of the gates, after a short span of time, to get out from the rear, when the guards or two drivers weren't looking - as they seemed to be more like two village elders. I volunteered for it but to my consternation found out that the Polish supervision could not be trusted or at least I thought so. Tunnelling out was also considered but nobody stayed long enough to start on it or form an escape committee. One day, a Belgian survivor from Blakenberghe came back with a tale of some escapees from the trains but he said it was sheer slaughter - most of them were killed.
We had arrived in Compiegne on the 1st of April and stayed for one month only, this had given us enough time to pick up and improve our health and clean our clothes. Once again, we were gathered for transportation, no respite. The Gestapo then sorted out our respective case numbers, which indicated to which destination we would be going and then marked our numbers on files. The numbers ranged from one to three next to our names.
We tried to make out the severity of the numbering but as we were all in the same transport we were painted with the same brush, or even worse than that we were branded like cattle.
One of the most famous nominations we came under was "N.N:" or the "Nacht und Nebel" - The Night of the Mist destination or those who had to disappear without a trace".
Some of the "N.N.", category prisoners, including my Dad, were believed to be in The Resistance and dangerous....
From Wikipedia:
To be continued ...
Underneath the soldier's formidable helmets and judging by the look in their eyes the indoctrination machine had done its job very thoroughly! We were the absolute baddies for them and they were definitely the ultimate baddies for us. This is what total war had brought us to.
After having been inside various places for nine months it was a relief to me to be in open fields and at a higher elevation. We entered the trial camp where they sorted us out for unknown transportation, most certainly to be to Germany. We had a look at the situation and realized that we had lost our liberty, which was outside the barbed wire fence. There was lots of fresh air and water to wash, not too much to eat, even though we were given some work to do. Meeting old and new acquaintances, it was more like a prisoner of war camp.
At this point, we liked to believe that the allied landings were near to fruition but this was mostly wishful thinking. By now, we knew that the Germans were tied down on the Eastern Front and in retreat, allied planes flew over us daily on their way to Germany. The U.S.A. was also now involved in the war.
Some work was handed out regarding the rubble of some buildings that were being demolished. I noticed the bricks being loaded on the carts of two Polish farmers, pulled by horses, with only two old German guards. I thought maybe there was a possibility of getting into the cart and getting the inmates to cover me up with old bricks.
My plan was that once out of the gates, after a short span of time, to get out from the rear, when the guards or two drivers weren't looking - as they seemed to be more like two village elders. I volunteered for it but to my consternation found out that the Polish supervision could not be trusted or at least I thought so. Tunnelling out was also considered but nobody stayed long enough to start on it or form an escape committee. One day, a Belgian survivor from Blakenberghe came back with a tale of some escapees from the trains but he said it was sheer slaughter - most of them were killed.
We had arrived in Compiegne on the 1st of April and stayed for one month only, this had given us enough time to pick up and improve our health and clean our clothes. Once again, we were gathered for transportation, no respite. The Gestapo then sorted out our respective case numbers, which indicated to which destination we would be going and then marked our numbers on files. The numbers ranged from one to three next to our names.
We tried to make out the severity of the numbering but as we were all in the same transport we were painted with the same brush, or even worse than that we were branded like cattle.
One of the most famous nominations we came under was "N.N:" or the "Nacht und Nebel" - The Night of the Mist destination or those who had to disappear without a trace".
Some of the "N.N.", category prisoners, including my Dad, were believed to be in The Resistance and dangerous....
From Wikipedia:
To be continued ...
On 7 December 1941, SS Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler issued the following instructions to the Gestapo:
“After lengthy consideration, it is the will of the Führer [Hitler] that the measures taken against those who are guilty of offenses against the Reich or against the occupation forces in occupied areas should be altered. The Führer is of the opinion that in such cases penal servitude or even a hard labor sentence for life will be regarded as a sign of weakness. An effective and lasting deterrent can be achieved only by the death penalty or by taking measures which will leave the family and the population uncertain as to the fate of the offender. Deportation to Germany serves this purpose.
Wednesday, 1 February 2012
Day 39 - Apathy in the train's wagons!
"The beginning of 1943 was not too chilly in the regions of Bordeaux, rather more bearable than our cold, damp north, a slight ground mist in the morning with lots of sunshine to come for the rest of the day. It didn't look like our great escape would come to be anymore! Anyone not called up to transport now would maybe gain the fruits of our efforts and have a chance. The French guards told us that the time was not ripe yet, so I put myself to reasoning that we may never be seen or heard of again and that this would be the last place we would report from; everybody else was in the same mood.
We left our memories on the walls - like prisoners do, inscribed! I put the most innocent addresses that wouldn't incriminate anybody while the Germans were still there, so I put my family's addresses in England. Later the evening, nearly everybody knew that we were due for transport. The news was that allied landings were imminent so the Germans wanted to get us on our way, far away. By evening a hell of a racket was heard from all the cells in the whole of the fort in unison, singing and pots banging together. Then the Germans from the center yard assembled and gave orders over the megaphone that they were going to start shooting; so the din gradually subsided to nothing!
The next morning, we were all called to be to the ready and then cashed off with some meager food distributed just in advance of departure. Transportation army vans took us all to the station in intervals until we were all gathered up. The S.S. were in the rear wagons with soldiers, collaborators and lots of plain clothes police, all heavily armed. Our inquisitor - Gestapo - was there too, the strong one! When the convoy was complete we were all pushed into the goods wagons, the two end spaces left for us and the middle section reserved for two soldiers with a sergeant. The sliding doors were left open, no facilities, no absolutions, the sections were divided by strings. In this manner we departed from Bordeaux.
The only chance I saw for possible escape was when we passed the big river Gironde on a high bridge. The train was rolling steadily along the pilions but they came too quick in succession to be able to make a jump for it from under the strings and into the tempting water that we could see far below us.
With the help of a Belgian pilot from Leige, called Allard, we tried to persuade some of the others to make a break for it in unison. Jumping the guards, in the wagon could be easily done before the guards could draw their weapons.
Machine guns covered both sides, Allard and I both volunteered to unhook the wagons at the rear; we soon found out that this was not possible! The mixed sections formed a very assorted crowd, old ones, some tortured to the point of incapability but most of all the majority were apathetic to such action.
The majority of those people would not come back from this journey, neither would Allard. After the war, I saw his photo displayed in one of those big multiple panels for the missing. The Gestapo had thought of everything including all the most possible ways and means of escape! The long journey went on for a good way until the S.S. and Gestapo thought it was time for a relief stop somewhere in a field, strategically situated to shoot any would be escapees. At this point, my inquisitor was keeping a watchful eye on me. I was, indeed, looking for a chance to escape underneath the wheels and a bit further away from the crowds - I could see the open fields now!
To reach the coverage of the trees was too much of a run, so I took my trousers off and showed what I thought of it all to my Gestapo man! I cannot judge his immediate reaction to that but I thought he displayed a slight human kind of smile. I also knew he was an excellent, well trained shot, my logic told me that. My intuition also told me to wait for a better opportunity than this one. I couldn't trust my Gestapo man's misleading reactions at all!
When this episode was over, Allard and I tried to study the trap windows in the corner under the cover of our inmates - we had a knife to work at it. It was a bit high and had to be done with the advantage of darkness and silently too. The plan was to drop at the other side, the speed and nearness of the wheels would almost certainly draw you in underneath them! Nothing came of this attempt , the drop was too high, close and awkward".
To be continued ...
We left our memories on the walls - like prisoners do, inscribed! I put the most innocent addresses that wouldn't incriminate anybody while the Germans were still there, so I put my family's addresses in England. Later the evening, nearly everybody knew that we were due for transport. The news was that allied landings were imminent so the Germans wanted to get us on our way, far away. By evening a hell of a racket was heard from all the cells in the whole of the fort in unison, singing and pots banging together. Then the Germans from the center yard assembled and gave orders over the megaphone that they were going to start shooting; so the din gradually subsided to nothing!
The next morning, we were all called to be to the ready and then cashed off with some meager food distributed just in advance of departure. Transportation army vans took us all to the station in intervals until we were all gathered up. The S.S. were in the rear wagons with soldiers, collaborators and lots of plain clothes police, all heavily armed. Our inquisitor - Gestapo - was there too, the strong one! When the convoy was complete we were all pushed into the goods wagons, the two end spaces left for us and the middle section reserved for two soldiers with a sergeant. The sliding doors were left open, no facilities, no absolutions, the sections were divided by strings. In this manner we departed from Bordeaux.
The only chance I saw for possible escape was when we passed the big river Gironde on a high bridge. The train was rolling steadily along the pilions but they came too quick in succession to be able to make a jump for it from under the strings and into the tempting water that we could see far below us.
With the help of a Belgian pilot from Leige, called Allard, we tried to persuade some of the others to make a break for it in unison. Jumping the guards, in the wagon could be easily done before the guards could draw their weapons.
Machine guns covered both sides, Allard and I both volunteered to unhook the wagons at the rear; we soon found out that this was not possible! The mixed sections formed a very assorted crowd, old ones, some tortured to the point of incapability but most of all the majority were apathetic to such action.
The majority of those people would not come back from this journey, neither would Allard. After the war, I saw his photo displayed in one of those big multiple panels for the missing. The Gestapo had thought of everything including all the most possible ways and means of escape! The long journey went on for a good way until the S.S. and Gestapo thought it was time for a relief stop somewhere in a field, strategically situated to shoot any would be escapees. At this point, my inquisitor was keeping a watchful eye on me. I was, indeed, looking for a chance to escape underneath the wheels and a bit further away from the crowds - I could see the open fields now!
To reach the coverage of the trees was too much of a run, so I took my trousers off and showed what I thought of it all to my Gestapo man! I cannot judge his immediate reaction to that but I thought he displayed a slight human kind of smile. I also knew he was an excellent, well trained shot, my logic told me that. My intuition also told me to wait for a better opportunity than this one. I couldn't trust my Gestapo man's misleading reactions at all!
When this episode was over, Allard and I tried to study the trap windows in the corner under the cover of our inmates - we had a knife to work at it. It was a bit high and had to be done with the advantage of darkness and silently too. The plan was to drop at the other side, the speed and nearness of the wheels would almost certainly draw you in underneath them! Nothing came of this attempt , the drop was too high, close and awkward".
To be continued ...
Day 38 - Tell the World Please!
Piece written by my Dad and found with his memoirs as a loose sheet of paper. I bolded To Each His Own which was the title of my Dad's memoirs. Also, he talks of spectres, past and present - our family fought the Germans in WWI as well as WWII so he may be referring to that part of our family history!
Glory To War
To Each His Own, evolves a picture of an adverse assembly of spectres, past and present, sitting on a multitude of battle ready horses with mad, drunken, hysterical staring eyes; guided firmly in the saddle by a terrible ghost of grim corrupt dignitaries cloaked in all kinds of beautiful apparel of stupendous splendour, rich ornaments, tiaras, uniforms and medallions. Covered by an eerie aura of bad stormy weather, darkening the pomp and glamour spectacle galore; wallowing in unsurpassed greediness with the sweet, rotten stench of death ever present around.
Passing by like a macabre parade; trampling casually on the mutilated corpses of long suffering mankind, foe and friend alike.
Little voices crying from beneath the holocaust, faintly heard, by the stunned helpless survivors.
We are next ...
Tell the world, please!
Written by: Louis Emanuel Fynaut
Glory To War
To Each His Own, evolves a picture of an adverse assembly of spectres, past and present, sitting on a multitude of battle ready horses with mad, drunken, hysterical staring eyes; guided firmly in the saddle by a terrible ghost of grim corrupt dignitaries cloaked in all kinds of beautiful apparel of stupendous splendour, rich ornaments, tiaras, uniforms and medallions. Covered by an eerie aura of bad stormy weather, darkening the pomp and glamour spectacle galore; wallowing in unsurpassed greediness with the sweet, rotten stench of death ever present around.
Passing by like a macabre parade; trampling casually on the mutilated corpses of long suffering mankind, foe and friend alike.
Little voices crying from beneath the holocaust, faintly heard, by the stunned helpless survivors.
We are next ...
Tell the world, please!
Written by: Louis Emanuel Fynaut
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Day 37 - "You will krepeer, - starve in a concentration camp"
"All this was too eagerly and well prepared for me to take the risk. These thoughts were flashing through my mind in a matter of seconds but another reversal of thinking was also saying to me, you are trained, you know the luger isn't loaded, take it, its the last chance you will have, the luger is heavy and the weight could make it a good missile, throw it at the living skeleton behind the door and then jump your accuser no matter how strong he is and what hidden weapon he may have, and out you go through the window like a bird to freedom or eternity. The trouble was I couldn't fly. I was getting in a mood or a trance, if you like, with the temptation.
It was coming to split seconds now, when suddenly, from nowhere, a small hurricane or inward draught occurred and the windows were thrown or rather sucked shut with a very loud thunder clap which woke the three of us out of this provocated vacuum atmosphere of foreboding. The figures in this drama started moving again awakened - just like a scene in a movie. A whirlwind of most divine nature had saved me at the very last minute as time had been ticking dangerously away for me.
Who knows what could have happened there! I am very strong, I know that, all the Fynaut's have always been strong but so was my adversary and the poor soul behind me was a wiry little devil waiting with his pistol at the ready. They must have realized that I was never going to talk or bend even under torture. I was not that type and I would rather die. It was a waste of time for them.
In a harsh voice, after having tapped away again on his typewriter and underlining it with red ink, he said,
"You will krepeer, - starve in a concentration camp"!
Sentenced to die, that was my verdict! Just like the inquisition which they seemed to have copied, that was the ordeal, the last solution. No courts, no justice, no trial or anything!!!!
He called the guards to take me back now. I didn't act like I seemed very impressed, just walked away as if I was going calmly to a firing squad but it was not to be yet, concentration camp, he had said, another chance for me after all!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
To be continued ...
It was coming to split seconds now, when suddenly, from nowhere, a small hurricane or inward draught occurred and the windows were thrown or rather sucked shut with a very loud thunder clap which woke the three of us out of this provocated vacuum atmosphere of foreboding. The figures in this drama started moving again awakened - just like a scene in a movie. A whirlwind of most divine nature had saved me at the very last minute as time had been ticking dangerously away for me.
Who knows what could have happened there! I am very strong, I know that, all the Fynaut's have always been strong but so was my adversary and the poor soul behind me was a wiry little devil waiting with his pistol at the ready. They must have realized that I was never going to talk or bend even under torture. I was not that type and I would rather die. It was a waste of time for them.
In a harsh voice, after having tapped away again on his typewriter and underlining it with red ink, he said,
"You will krepeer, - starve in a concentration camp"!
Sentenced to die, that was my verdict! Just like the inquisition which they seemed to have copied, that was the ordeal, the last solution. No courts, no justice, no trial or anything!!!!
He called the guards to take me back now. I didn't act like I seemed very impressed, just walked away as if I was going calmly to a firing squad but it was not to be yet, concentration camp, he had said, another chance for me after all!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
To be continued ...
Day 36 - A glance full of hatred!
"At this point every one of us was being interrogated in sequence and who knows what was going to happen after that - so we all felt a great sense of urgency!
One day we were nearly caught when one of us was being called out; it was with Carlos I think, a sullen looking guard brusquely opened the door without us having heard him coming. We were just having a jolly time with our hoard when the door flew open, everything dropping in front of his boots. He just starred at the hoard as if drugged and as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Lucky Strike Packet, matches and all spread out on the floor beneath his feet.
In the interval of surprise, one of us managed to kick it under the bed and across. As Carlos was going out he covered the whole scene with a wide gesture and sweep of his arms. Either the guard couldn't believe his eyes at all, or he was seemingly hypnotized or didn't know Lucky Strike from anything else. When the door closed behind him we couldn't believe our luck for the moment! That could have been the "mittard" or dungeon for at least three weeks - which would have blocked our ability to escape due to our absence.
The dungeons in a fort built during the middle ages were terrible things to live in, just a deep pit where you were completely forgotten, especially by Richelieu. Carlos came back with the news which we had expected and that was that we had no time to lose and had to be quick with our plans. Shortly after, Carlos came back from his interrogation - it was my turn. This was a dilemma, I knew that, fearing the worst I was led to a room near the street which I noticed because of the noise of the traffic and the sight of some tram lines.
A Gestapo agent with his cap and overcoat filled the room with his bulk. I noticed what appeared to be a hard or very strong character sitting behind a table with a typewriter. He was a thin, raspy looking skeleton of a man, with flat ears - more like a tramp all in all. He was desperately and wildly gesticulating to his strong partner. The scrawny one was in plain clothes and drably dressed at that.
When I entered the wretch withdrew but left the door halfway open thus reminding me of a previous occasion, not so long ago. I had an instinct for symbols or things like that; he was still watching and waiting on orders to jump in, I could sense that very well. It was a set-up, a trap carefully planned by both and it stunk, I also didn't like the way he had sized me up when I entered, giving me a glance full of hatred!
The stern Gestapo man told me to sit down now. He began softening me up and sounded very much like a lawyer, for my benefit, combining clever double talk of accuser and defender. He told me that I had been locked away for a very long time, away from home, parents, family and friends and if I co-operated with them I would be united with them and could re-enter society.
He then said, would I now like to tell him who my contacts were and where I was going, seriously! "By the way" he said, "Your friend told us everything anyway". I knew now that he was lieing because Daniel didn't know anything like that except; that we were going overseas and so did they, so that was too easy. So, I said, ''It was just a mischevious prank by mislead youths and that we were going to shoot lions in Africa".
At that he lost his temper and smacked me in the face. "You mean shooting German soldiers", he said. I didn't reply to that, that was a bad moment. I heard a slight movement behind me, probably the other one. He was tapping madly on the typewriter and I could feel my face tingling from the smack. After thinking for a moment, he suddenly stopped and placed his luger on the table within my reach, that was it, the moment the other one had waited for too.
He now suddenly stood up and acting in an absent minded way turned his back towards me and walked over to the window throwing it wide open so that I could hear the traffic below, hooting cars, trams, bicycles passing with bells ringing and people chattering. Even that in Fort-Du-Ha, I hadn't heard for a long time as it was hermetically sealed and thus closed to outside noise. What a temptation, that was the idea! The devil and the demon: the luger, the chance of a jump, just for the taking, the lamb ready for the slaughter and maybe a coffin and hearse waiting
To be continued ...
One day we were nearly caught when one of us was being called out; it was with Carlos I think, a sullen looking guard brusquely opened the door without us having heard him coming. We were just having a jolly time with our hoard when the door flew open, everything dropping in front of his boots. He just starred at the hoard as if drugged and as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Lucky Strike Packet, matches and all spread out on the floor beneath his feet.
In the interval of surprise, one of us managed to kick it under the bed and across. As Carlos was going out he covered the whole scene with a wide gesture and sweep of his arms. Either the guard couldn't believe his eyes at all, or he was seemingly hypnotized or didn't know Lucky Strike from anything else. When the door closed behind him we couldn't believe our luck for the moment! That could have been the "mittard" or dungeon for at least three weeks - which would have blocked our ability to escape due to our absence.
The dungeons in a fort built during the middle ages were terrible things to live in, just a deep pit where you were completely forgotten, especially by Richelieu. Carlos came back with the news which we had expected and that was that we had no time to lose and had to be quick with our plans. Shortly after, Carlos came back from his interrogation - it was my turn. This was a dilemma, I knew that, fearing the worst I was led to a room near the street which I noticed because of the noise of the traffic and the sight of some tram lines.
A Gestapo agent with his cap and overcoat filled the room with his bulk. I noticed what appeared to be a hard or very strong character sitting behind a table with a typewriter. He was a thin, raspy looking skeleton of a man, with flat ears - more like a tramp all in all. He was desperately and wildly gesticulating to his strong partner. The scrawny one was in plain clothes and drably dressed at that.
When I entered the wretch withdrew but left the door halfway open thus reminding me of a previous occasion, not so long ago. I had an instinct for symbols or things like that; he was still watching and waiting on orders to jump in, I could sense that very well. It was a set-up, a trap carefully planned by both and it stunk, I also didn't like the way he had sized me up when I entered, giving me a glance full of hatred!
The stern Gestapo man told me to sit down now. He began softening me up and sounded very much like a lawyer, for my benefit, combining clever double talk of accuser and defender. He told me that I had been locked away for a very long time, away from home, parents, family and friends and if I co-operated with them I would be united with them and could re-enter society.
He then said, would I now like to tell him who my contacts were and where I was going, seriously! "By the way" he said, "Your friend told us everything anyway". I knew now that he was lieing because Daniel didn't know anything like that except; that we were going overseas and so did they, so that was too easy. So, I said, ''It was just a mischevious prank by mislead youths and that we were going to shoot lions in Africa".
At that he lost his temper and smacked me in the face. "You mean shooting German soldiers", he said. I didn't reply to that, that was a bad moment. I heard a slight movement behind me, probably the other one. He was tapping madly on the typewriter and I could feel my face tingling from the smack. After thinking for a moment, he suddenly stopped and placed his luger on the table within my reach, that was it, the moment the other one had waited for too.
He now suddenly stood up and acting in an absent minded way turned his back towards me and walked over to the window throwing it wide open so that I could hear the traffic below, hooting cars, trams, bicycles passing with bells ringing and people chattering. Even that in Fort-Du-Ha, I hadn't heard for a long time as it was hermetically sealed and thus closed to outside noise. What a temptation, that was the idea! The devil and the demon: the luger, the chance of a jump, just for the taking, the lamb ready for the slaughter and maybe a coffin and hearse waiting
To be continued ...
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