Day 44 - Murder Incorporated!.

Blog 44 of 44.  See Day 1 for an Introduction.  
Please note that this  page has very disturbing content!




"I was abruptly woken by cries and noise outside, the train coming to a long halt and a sudden stop.  Noise and a tumult of short orders, doors flung open, one after the other, until it came to ours with the shouting and ordering of Ër rausch", (Get Out!) I didn't notice the "Shweinhunden" bit but it must have been there too!  They continuously insulted us now, one gets quickly accustomed to being treated like an animal!  We were total wrecks, unshaven, bewildered, sick, frustrated, indifferent and completely disorientated - that's the way they wanted us to be!


The biggest part of all that was that it had been carefully planned and calculated with what they called, a proficient, German efficiency program.


Murder Incorporated was waiting for us en masse. All sorts of S.S. fighting and political units from the tarterus?, welcoming us with an authentic and theatrical bit of real teutontic? reversed charm.  Who ever amongst us still  had any doubts would find that, within a few seconds, all dreams of compassion would be dashed to pieces.  


The S.S. all had big grins, to compare those grins to hyenas would be an insult to the animals, I think.  Anyway, they were there in full force, ready to begin their lugubrious work as a business.


What transpired now one had to be there to believe it and even then it is hard to comprehend.


Whilst we started gathering and still some being carried out from the wagons, by their mates, I had a quick glance at the enormity of the camp and it's extensions afar from where I stood I couldn't see the end of it from my left side at all.  The security fence appeared to be double barbed with the outer electrified, once in there you were certainly well secured, no expense seemed to have been too much.  I had a quick glance at some of the inmates nearest to us, now.


Women, men, I couldn't see any children.  All dressed up as if ready for an enormous ball or carnival, moving along like zombies, some carrying between them, on long poles, a big barrel dangling in the middle.


It was more than enough to see, the threatening S.S. drew my attention now.  A tall, grinning, skull and crossbones S.S. officer shouted at the wagon occupants to bring out their wounded and half dead near to him and he stood legs spread out on what looked like woodpiles about twenty feet away.  He faced the whole miserable herd in length and breadth of our column as seeming to have descended from Dante's inferno.  He was gesticulating and waving his long arms with a luger in his hand in every direction possible.  


He might as well have had no uniform or flesh on his body, Death itself!


The wounded all very much alive pulled along by the S.S. soldiers and spread out at the officer's feet, some begging, I do not know for what - feeling death too near I suppose!   Now pointing his luger at us in a sinister way, laughing, he then began to shoot the lot of them, twenty to twenty four, one at a time in the head, some in the neck still hysterically laughing more and more now.  When he had finished he just went on laughing again as though he enjoyed the whole thing tremendously...
  
We just stood there perplexed as though we had arrived in another hell hole, which was another inferno being stoked up for us, beyond any credibility.


A French Officer, a few paces from me, detached himself from us giving us the usual gesture as if he was going to relieve himself but about twenty feet from our end of the column stood an S.S. motorbike.  A German policeman was in between and slightly sideways probably wondering what the Frenchman had in mind at that moment.  The man kept coming on so that the S.S. officer noticed it and screaming loudly to the police officer, he said, "shoot him quickly, he is after my bike". 


At this the policeman shot him in the leg at close range which made the Frenchman tumble in his length backwards; he got up again and now putting his arms up for the surrender sign.  The S.S. officer still storming forward in a rage now, howled to the policeman, "shoot him" and they shot him in the heart.  When he did that, in hesitancy, it was the Coup de Grace to finish it off!


To be continued ...

Day 43 - For the man who helped my dad on the train!

Blogging my dad's memoirs can be very emotional. During Day 42, when I typed in the part where my dad was feeling ill and he mentions that a fellow prisoner rubbed his stomach to try to help him - I was immediately struck by this unknown man's compassion.  I hope he made it back!  

The Dalai Lama wrote this quote on facebook: 

The human capacity to care for others isn't something trivial or something to be taken for granted.  Rather, it is something we should cherish.  Compassion is a marvel of human nature, a precious inner resource, and the foundation of our well being and the harmony of our societies.  If we feel happiness for ourselves we should practice compassion, and if we seek happiness for others we should also practice compassion.




Scroll to Day 1 for Introduction 
This is Blog 43 of 43!

Day 42 - Schweinhunden - Train ride to the camp!

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 ...

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 ...

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 ...

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.

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 ...

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