Day 69 - Bombs and Destruction on August 23, 1944.

"One day a delegation from the Red Cross came to Buchenwald - there were also others with them too. To us, this was good news, as it was evidence that our courier had reached his target on the outside and had supplied information to others about the camp.  The resistance had become aware of the good news before the delegation had arrived as coded messages had already been deciphered on the radio. 


The S.S. now mounted a "look and search raid", within the camp.  They never found anything to go on - little did they know that there was treason within their own ranks, this was now clearly working to our full advantage.


The delegation's visit was timed perfectly to coincide with an air raid alarm.    This was to enable us to go out as if we were going for cover in the tall pine trees in the woods for protection against the aerial bombardment.  


Everything had been well planned and organized and our purpose was to arrange ourselves into a certain formation so that we could form an easily visible target for the incoming planes.   The target formed was of all importance and so had been organized on a grand scale.


Well after the Red Cross Delegation had left the camp, this exercise was kept up until Memorial Day, on twenty third of August, 1944.  The pressure from the air had been constant so that the S.S. would not be able to relax and keep us inside Gouzloff Werk for too long!


On this lovely day, I was just nicely relaxing and lazily settling down under a nice, thick tree, looking at the foliage on top of me and the very clear sky.  Suddenly, I heard the familiar droning sound of the planes coming on but this was quite different from the usual sound.  The planes were at a much lower altitude and were clearly preparing for full attacking speed - which I now recognized as;  full speed go, let all loose!


They came on steadily in close formation like a holocaust of their own judgement, assuming an almost deadly appearance.  The first wave looked similar to speedy whitish crosses with the bouncing sun rays on their coffin like bodies.  They were dangerously close now, just visible in the openings of the foliage above our heads, causing me to quickly flatten myself beneath the tree I had just been sitting at.


I could see amazement and whitish staring fear in my friend's eyes who was sitting on his haunches and looking upwards to the  sky.  In no time, he was flat next to me and practically on top of me, the only place left.


Now we heard the mass of destructive bombs coming down incessantly, screeching.  If was as if the air above us was torn open.  There was more hissing than whistling.  It was loud and heavy as the bombs exploded on impact around us.  As we were laying flat and lower than anything around most of the noise would be heard better further away from us!


The air wall moved among and mostly above us pressing everything further away downwards and pushing on like a wind of hurricane force - making me press myself as flat as I possibly could against the ground.  I now felt myself being lifted up and down like a feather.


I had just put a twig into my mouth to save my eardrums from the blast - an old soldier's trick.


There were terrible screams coming from all over as bombs had dropped just near to the entrance of the forest.  More and more people now piled onto me for protection as if in a safe haven....."


To be continued ...

Day 68 - Sabotage and Indentured Couriers!

"Auspicious symbols had helped get me a better placement within the camp.  For a short time I earned extra porridge and was supplied with some dregs of wine and cigarettes.  The work was easier and more refined than hard labor in the quarry.  The Ukranians now smoked their Margorka from newspapers that had been thrown away by the S.S. - they looked like flaming torches in big clouds of bellowing smoke.


My first placement was also in the first department of the workshop.  There was an assembly of small electrical components on benches with drilling for  bakelite flat panels.  These panels fitted together with a terminal hole for an antenna in the middle - it was a guide system, for what?  There were also milling and drilling machines.


One civil engineer and two female assistants worked with us as silent partners.  They were the first women we had seen in a long time, so it was a renewed experienced for us.  They showed us the ropes and the intricacies of the job.  I managed to have a convivial short chat with them while standing back with the technicians - the women kept well away from us.


The technician knew Ostend very well and was very casual and jovial.  He talked about how he had enjoyed going to the coast at Ostend before the war.  At that point, we had to stop the conversation because Tom Mix came along on a patrol!  He was an older, S.S. guard, assigned to keep an eye on us - so, we were good boys now!


He noticed the numbers on our arms were from Auschwitz and was curious as to how we had landed up at Buchanwald.  I suppose, he was probably wondering how the upper command had let us out - it was unheard of before our enchanted trip!  Everybody now watched Tom Mix closely until he was out of sight.


As soon as he was gone, the first thing that surprised me was the senior, a Frenchman.  He was cracking the panels in front of him and throwing most of them away.  After watching him pushing the drills down very hard he instructed me to do the same.  If that was the play!, I was game, of course.  Somehow, it seemed alright.  The sabotage was on in full swing now.


All the panels that now passed us included invisible cracks, those that were too bad were thrown away for scrap.  These panels certainly must have been guides for something, but what?  Was it submarines, planes or a new system altogether?  It seemed to be a closed secret and a closed shop for us too.


The civilian supervisor, seemed to be a very clever man - he looked like a space age scientist, A Werner Von Braun type, tall, blond, thin and full of intense energy.  On the other hand, he could also have been the arche type for the ideal S.S. man, portrayed in the typical Germanic, Aryan specimens they so much desired to back breed.


Sunday was our day off!  On Sunday morning, I was busy walking around to the wooden barracks, we were allowed to do this, they were near to the appeal or gathering place and I was eagerly looking for recognizable faces.  This was one of the few times, for a long time, that I had decided to be more up front instead of keeping out of sight and in the background.


As this moment, the tragic prophesy that had been predicted at that table in Fort Du-ha came true - I now bumped into Janeck again and as foretold we were meeting on a hill in Germany!


Janeck was already well established with the Polish patriots in his block and already knew the score in regards to the underground activities.  By the sound of it he knew more than I did!  He didn't have much to say except on the issue of Guzloff - it was definitely a secret project and most likely involved a top secret weapon.  He had to go now, but our next meeting would bring us close together again to see if we could be of help to each other.


At this point, it was very probable that I would be brought into line for courier preparation for underground activities.  I had to be told everything by my own section in the block I was in.  There was a more mature, indentured courier launched well before me - I was put on the reserve.  In case of his failure, only then would I be activated for sure.  My full acknowledgement, until the appropriate time, was not all that much desired in case of complications!


To be continued ...

Day 67 - Big Targets and Russian Prisoners!

I sometimes wondered about the first Commando's, the ones now guarded by dogs.  They had grotesque, big targets displayed on their clothes.  Everyday, the number of escapees from this group was diminishing.  I could easily have been one of them!  I had to keep silent and not talk too much to others.  I understood the importance of accepting my position - not wondering too much!

The Russian prisoners, some of which, were soldiers and others were suspected of being commissars, wore drab, green uniforms with pointed hats like Mongolian and Tartar Huns.  The Russians were now leading the column ahead of us, marching in rhythm, their heads bobbing up and down, passing the Caracho Weg, the guards, the eagle and away!

We were like robots, moving silently along, hardly aware of the music that was fading into the distance as we marched to the same rhythm.  The woods and trees around us seemed to be weeping with crystal dew drops, all in array ready for another nice morning.

Not for us though - deep in thought!  We were always aware that on one command from the eternal Mutzen ab, we could be poked with a bayonet or even worse could happen as we continued to march.  The baboons and bear must have still been asleep, too cold for them.  Anyway, what was the use of them watching the suffering of boring mankind!

A short while after this daily performance, I landed up in Gouzloff-Werke. I believe that my trade school background together with the assistance of the camp, "Underground Movement", were the auspicious symbols that had helped me get there!

We were all well acquainted with Gouzloff-Werke but it was still a big and great unknown for us!

To be continued ...

Day 66 - Attitude! and Ukranian Blackshirts!

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 ...

Day 65 - Starvation and Cannibilism!

A few German homosexuals tried out the "Army of the Damned", only to be destroyed in the process.  They were put in between the Germans and the Russians.  I don't know where one's breaking point is, it differed greatly from person to person.  Some people never talked or gave anybody away while others talked under the simplest of tortures.


My new block was now next to the fence in the Guinea Pig block or experimental block.  It was also the center for the combined operations of the  camp resistance, we were the main group.  The rest of the resistance network was spread out evenly in all the blocks.  At this point, the biggest threat to us were the German Greens, they were the rascals.  They were still patriots and used as "Ferrets" - so we had to replace them as quickly as possible - we got rid of them through concessions given to us by the S.S. - due to our status as political prisoners.


The S.S. still needed us to fulfill their programs for the delivery of new weapons.  The war was now beginning, more and more to take a turn against the Germans and so our rights as political prisoners had to be considered more carefully now.  This balance was achieved through a transition that sent the worst elements into oblivion!


Due to this new perspective, we were now supplied with a bit more food, this   only lasted for a very short time.  The extra food was in the form of a thin porridge in the morning and Austrian cigarettes supplied by the S.S., later in the day.  However, we were soon back to Magorka cigarettes , which consisted of  chopped stems from Russian tobacco plants - made from the bottom dregs of Russia's country vineyards at Moselle.  We could buy these with our Marks - these small pauses, in our daily routine, gave us a bit of a breather. 


By June or July the heat was pretty constant now -  so our small slice of bread, with a finger of margarine, was now supplied in the evening.  This was  before the watery soup round, which sometimes had the addition of a small amount of salami or jam. The allocation of food was all experimental stuff or at least most of it.  They were always figuring out what was the minimum amount of food/rations that we could eat while still being of use to them.


The bread consisted of a lot of potato flour with straw in it and other local products - only some of the wheat was present as far as we saw and knew, the remainder consisted of birch nut flour and lots of chestnuts.  The margarine and jam were all concoctions and produced by the coal industry. 


The meat or salami - unknown to us in its consistency - was about one half an inch thick and one inch wide - it didn't last long either with its meager supply.  Sometimes, they made our rations smaller to suit themselves and then the ravages of hunger after that were terrible for us!


If you are wondering whether cannibalism had taken place - yes, we had heard of it.  One night, a body was laying outside in the quarantine area, waiting to be collected and in the morning the body was missing a foot. 


Nobody saw what happened!  New arrivals were constantly coming in via transports on an ongoing basis, usually from worse conditions, very likely coming over to die, which was more usual than unusual near the end...

Day 64 - The Army of the Damned

I think I had the luck of innocence on my side.  I  never had to wear an exclusive striped suit with big targets on it like other recaptured escapees. I don't know who I had to thank for that but it was as if my file had been changed or disappeared - or as if , "the organization" was looking after me.  However, I was still in the camp so danger was lurking at every corner.
The confusion was probably helped along by the fact that the Germans, even with their over-efficiency, had too much going on to be concerned with every detail happening within the camp. 


At times, we thought the S.S. played darts when picking victims for execution.  Frequently, they would call out random names over the loud speakers.  When this happened we always sat in fear, minute by minute, expecting to hear our name being called at any moment - we never saw anybody coming back from those calls!   Often, the S.S., would have to come and fetch their victims and drive them up and away like reluctant animals to the slaughter -  realizing that their time was up the chosen victims would often resist until the very end!


I can see all these episodes vividly in my mind as clearly as the day they happened.  We just slithered through it all by sheer luck, resilience, strength and endurance.  For your own sake, you had to be like Samson and also very much like a soldier at the front - there really was not much difference except that a soldier at the front could shoot at the enemy.


No matter how desperate we became there was no way you could join the S.S.
What did happen was that you could join, "The Army of the Damned", under the impression that you could make a quick getaway.... 

Day 63 - ""Never Give Up and Persevere at all Times!

The food was deficient in nourishment and our hard labour in the quarry extremely heavy.  This was another weeding out process to identify the toughest prisoners.  There was no respite; the "round the clock" S.S. bullies were on our backs all the time!  The whips wound around their wrists ready for the first prisoner they could catch, especially those who were trying to hide in the crevices. 


Luckily, all of us were capable of being actors when necessary - sometimes we would allow our picks to go up and down breaking next to nothing, this was the only way to last out and to survive a bit longer!  Sometimes, they would harness from six to a dozen of us and with a stick placed across our chests we would have to pull slabs of stone up the slope.


One day, at about noon, I dropped down and fell onto the only patch of clover I had ever seen in this place.  I picked out a four leaf clover which I put into my small religious book.  For a long time after that I kept this book, together with my meticulously written in diary and when I left the camp these two books and the four leaf clover left with me!


One day, I was wounded when my ankle got knocked when I slipped among the rocks on the cliff.  The old prisoners had told us that the stones were poisonous and to make sure that we didn't get scratched.  My wound never did heal up properly but I managed - as I had to: -


 "To Never Give Up and Persevere At All Times - through thick and thin".


The fleas and lice on our block were a terrible nuisance.  I had big holes in the same leg as the wounded ankle due to the fleas and lice.  Some of the holes in our flesh were big enough to enable a person to insert their little finger.  Our wounded flesh looked like we had beri-beri -  that is likely because of the lack of nourishment and Vitamin C, which would have assisted the healing process.


If a flea bite could do that much harm you can imagine how other wounds fared!  The people who had been badly bitten by the dogs, when we arrived, died in agony shortly afterwards, mostly from tetanus.  People still kept dying and transports were in the offing again!  I stayed on and I do not know why.  Puzzle.!!!


Eventually, I passed through the labour exchange and was consigned to Gouzloff Werke and to the Upper Camp or rather Senior Camp now, the luck of the draw or maybe picked, I don't know!!!  After the stripes another suite with squares on instead of indelible dye, it seemed as if I had been chosen!  My haircut was pretty normal too, not in the Iroquois style of cocks comb!


I had a cross-interrogation by an elder from my new block.  He appeared to be a well-trained Belgian who came from somewhere around Poperinge. He had been in Moscow and had also belonged to a Belgian resistance group.


In other words, he was a communist agent and commissar - another foreign power's intelligence too.  He was likely chosen for the job because he could verify many of my home regions, recognition points as well as my immediate background in Ostend - my place of origin.


They already knew of some of my exploits through other prisoners, like my escape, reliability and knowledge.  It seemed that I fitted the needs of their organization and pattern of operations.  Having contacts on the outside was also very important too!  I was in their hands now and I am convinced I was also in other people's hands too!!!




To be continued ....