7 Prisoner Of War
Exactly four years after escaping from Poland, and three years after joining the British Army, on the 18th December 1942, I became a Prisoner of War. At that time, the British Eighth Army and the Americans were joining forces on the North African front, and Rommel’s German Army, together with some Italian forces, was fighting a rearguard action and was already retreating towards the continent of Europe. Thus I thought I would not be a prisoner for long. But how wrong I was!
Here I must mention one incident, which happened during my captivity at this Italian outpost. My driver and I were kept separate from other prisoners during the interrogation by the Italian commanding officer. We were only given a small ration of bread in the morning, and some kind of soup during the rest of the day. Of course this was insufficient and we were very hungry. I always ate some of the bread, and kept the remainder for later, but my driver finished his ration in one go. On the third day, he came towards me and threatened that unless I gave him the rest of my bread, he will tell the Italians that I am German and not British. I was outraged by his demand. Although he was much taller and better built than me, I took him by his lapel, shook him and hit him so hard, that he collapsed and hit his head on the wall. From the screams, the guards came in and asked what had happened. He looked at me, and, to my surprise, he said: “I collapsed from weakness”. We got double rations from then on, and he never bothered me any more.
The Italians shipped me, together with another seven British officers (two of whom were also from the S.A.S.), by submarine to Italy. On the way, when we thought we were near Malta, we tried to overcome the crew of the submarine, but failed in our attempt. We were, of course, severely punished, and after that, were kept like sardines lying on the floor, for the rest of the journey. On the third day after leaving Africa, we arrived in Italy and were taken to a Prisoner of War camp near Bari, in southern Italy.
Here again, I underwent long sessions of interrogation, but to no avail - I revealed only my name and rank. Here I must mention that, before we went into action, we had to consider the possibility of being captured. Therefore, I had already made up the story of my name being Maurice Tiffin, born in Montreal, and taken as a child to Palestine, where I joined the British Army. This was a precaution, in order to make my identity plausible and allow for my faulty English. What I had to hide was not that I was Jewish, but having been born in Germany. Anyhow, I went through these interrogations without being detected, and finally was registered as a POW born in Montreal. Later in the camp, I had a long conversation with one of the senior officers among the prisoners, and revealed to him my true story. As he was also a Canadian and a real one, who had direct contact with the International Red Cross, he arranged for me to have an aunt in Montreal who sent me food parcels.
Life in the camp in Italy was not too harsh. As a non-commissioned officer, I had the right to refuse to work for the enemy. Nevertheless, I had to keep busy somehow so I started to help in the kitchen where the food for the prisoners was prepared. Although the work was very hard, I had enough to eat, I still had time to do some physical training and also to meet other people. After a few weeks, an accident happened - a pot full of boiling water fell and the scalding water splashed all over my body and legs. The pain incurred is impossible to describe. The skin on the affected parts peeled off the flesh. I was taken to a civilian hospital in Bari, and kept there for nearly four weeks. Gradually, the healing process started; a thin layer of skin reappeared on my body. Even today, I cannot expose my legs to the sun for any length of time, as this area is still very sensitive.
This brought an end to my career as a cook, and I occupied my time in physical exercise and meeting with other prisoners to discuss the possibility of escape. Shortly after my stay in hospital, the Americans began making an impact on the Italian front. We were told that our camp was to be abandoned and we were to be moved to Northern Italy. A few days after this, we got our belongings together and started our journey, partly by train, partly walking, and within a few days we arrived in our new camp, just outside Udino. From the camp, on clear days, we could see the Yugoslav border, and occasionally even soldiers patrolling the border. We thought of escaping and joining Tito's liberation forces. The Italians were also aware of this possibility and the guard was strengthened to make escape impossible. Nevertheless, a few tried but, during my stay in this camp, as far as I can remember, only one or two succeeded, while the others were caught and brought back to the camp.
Here life was much harder than in the previous camp. The guards were North Italian soldiers, of different stock than those from the South. However we gradually organised ourselves into a certain routine, and life became bearable. In addition to the food provided by the Italians, mainly macaroni, we received Red Cross parcels from time to time, which supplemented our meagre diet. I still tried to keep fit by exercising, walking and running every morning within the boundaries of the camp. We also organised meetings and discussion groups on all topics.
There was no Jewish life as such in POW camp. There were some other Jewish soldiers with me but there was no possibility of keeping kashrut, Shabbat or Jewish holidays. Perhaps the only thing I was able to do was to avoid eating pork or bacon. On Shabbat we tried not to do much. I was well known because I liked to exchange meat tins for sardines. This was not considered suspicious, as the guards did not know of our activities.
In Italy, the barracks were very run down, and inhabited by rats and mice. Any food that was left out was eaten by mice, so we hung up washing lines and clipped our food to it. Rats were unable to balance on the thin lines, but the mice had no trouble. We often found them climbing up, gnawing their way through the line until the food fell to the floor and then eating it. One day I put my shoes on and found a mouse in one of them.
We tried, by all means possible, to keep informed of the news on the front, supplied by the guards or sometimes through a newspaper for which we bribed them. Life went on until September 1943, by which time I had already spent nine months in captivity. By then, the American Army had established a bridgehead in southern Italy, in spite of fierce fighting in the centre of the country. The Italians were ready to surrender by this time, but they were still in the grip of the Germans. The Italian commander of our camp discussed the situation with the senior officer of the prisoners, and came to an agreement that within a few days the whole camp - guards and prisoners - would abandon camp, march together to the south and surrender to the American Army. But on the very day that we were ready to leave and commence our march, the Germans arrived at 5 a.m. and took over the camp. They must have got wind of our plan, probably through some junior Italian officers. This ended our march to freedom! The Germans deported the Italian guards together with us. We felt completely helpless - we didn't have the strength or the equipment to overcome the Germans. It was a hopeless situation.
With the usual German efficiency, our evacuation was organised within hours. By midday, a goods train was ready at Udino railway station to take us to Austria, across the border from Italy. We were packed into the train, 50 men per wagon, and taken to Austria which was, of course, fully occupied by German troops. A few of us, myself included, tried to climb out from the little windows in the wagon, in an attempt to escape, but alas we were all recaptured the moment we jumped to the ground. I made two more attempts at escape in 1944, but the third time I tried, my commanding officer told me I was of more importance in the camp.
After two days of unbearable conditions in the train, we arrived at a camp in Southern Austria. Here, although the guards were very strict, life was not too bad. At some stage, we were allowed under heavy guard, in small groups, to go outside the camp to the next village and even enter a public bar to buy a beer. When some of us tried to escape, these outings were cancelled. However, after about three to four weeks, we were informed that we would be moved again. This journey was a long one and, after several days of severe discomfort, we arrived at a camp in western Prussia, near the city of Thorn. This was not very far from the Polish border. Here again, the first thing that came to mind was how to escape to Poland and join the Russian Army.
Conditions in this camp were very tough, even though the standard of housing was much better than at any previous camp. By the time we arrived at this part of northern Europe, it was already winter and very cold. With the meagre food, insufficient clothes and only one blanket per person that we received, we were hardly in a fit condition to resist the cold weather. It was definitely the hardest winter I ever went through. I never stopped taking exercise, consisting of early morning runs of five to seven kilometres each day. It helped me overcome the conditions better than others.
Meanwhile the Russians were advancing on the Eastern front and, with the Germans in retreat, we noticed the guards were very tense and nervous while making our life even more difficult. Food was getting scarce and privileges were cut to a minimum. We were in a jubilant mood because we thought that, with the Russians nearing our camp, our POW life would come to an end. But once again, German efficiency organised the withdrawal of several hundred prisoners to the west. We were told to take only the minimum of personal belongings. Under strong guard, we walked for three weeks during the autumn of 1944. Conditions were very, very hard. Many of the prisoners collapsed by the wayside. What happened to them I don't know. Food was insufficient. At night we slept in open fields, without enough protection against the cold.
Finally we arrived in a place called Fallingbostle, not far from Hanover in western Germany. Completely exhausted, we tried to settle down, as best we could, to camp life. Within a few days we were joined by more POWs - NCOs and officers - evacuated from Stallag 7, later famous, through the film “The Wooden Horse”, for a mass escape.
There I met up with soldiers from Palestine, whom I knew from the early days of my army life. They were captured in Greece and were taken captive 18 months before me. Many of the prisoners were Air Force officers. We immediately got to work on counter-intelligence, gathering information necessary for escape, as well as getting in contact with the British Army. We had some experts who could put together some kind of radio to hear the BBC news, and were also able to put up a transmitter to send information to the First British Army. My contribution was, of course, my knowledge of German. I was able to obtain essential material in exchange for coffee, chocolate and such things, using the parcels we received from time to time through the Red Cross. Thus, we built a transmitter, which we kept hidden, initially, by moving it from barrack to barrack, and finally by setting it up under the hut of the German commanding officer. It was never discovered, despite the Germans time and again breaking into our barracks, ripping open floors, searching with dogs and threatening us with all kinds of punishments.
In the late summer of 1944, we were joined by officers of paratrooper units, who were dropped near Dieppe in France, the majority being captured. It nevertheless lifted our spirits, as we felt that in spite of such failures, the second front was due to come, bringing our captivity to an end. What we felt, was also felt by the Germans. As they saw the German eastern front collapsing and the Russians advancing, they became a little more friendly, fearing what was to come. We took advantage of this attitude and succeeded in getting a few more prisoners ready for escape. Some succeeded, others not. I thought I should try my luck and escape. However my colleagues and co-prisoners thought that I could contribute more to our efforts with my work in the camp, and we agreed that, for the time being, I stay put. I continued with my contribution towards counter-intelligence, and with my personal keep-fit.
With the news of successes on both the Russian and Allied sides, life in the camp was never dull, and our activity increased. We tried to escape from the monotony of our day-to-day existence. I did a lot of sport and instructed about 50 soldiers in physical training every morning. There were soldiers who were artistic and painted. We also held concerts and organised plays. The food, however, was getting worse from day to day. The transport system had completely broken down, because of British and American bombings. Our supply of Red Cross parcels came to a complete halt.
I must point out, at this point, that the best way of economising with food was to get together in groups and pool our food rations. As we received one loaf of bread per day to be shared by seven people, it was logical to organise groups of seven. I joined a group of three Canadians, two Australians, one British and myself. All these people were very friendly with each other and had a lot of the same ideas. Our group sharing was most successful. We agreed from the beginning that, while the German rations, together with the food from the Red Cross parcels, was fairly adequate, we must save some of the durable food in tins and packets for a rainy day. This policy turned out to be very wise, for the time came when food rations were no longer sufficient. So, when many others suffered from lack of food, we, under the circumstances, were fairly well supplied.
The most important thing was, of course, the certainty that, with the second front being opened, the war could not last much longer. As I mentioned previously, we were in daily contact with the First British Army. In this way we were fully acquainted with the developments on the front. Meanwhile, the Germans guarding our camp became friendlier with us. Their position was getting more and more hopeless.
One day during the month of February 1945, the Germans informed us of their worsening situation. The British Army was advancing towards our camp, and there were Nazi elite Storm Troopers roaming in the woods. They believed the safest thing to do would be to surrender to us, and therewith handed over their arms and ammunition. We accepted their surrender, and took all the Germans, in the camp compound, under our protection.
We immediately organised guard duty around the clock, and Groups went with an armed escort to the nearby villages in order to bring in some food. The villagers were only too happy to supply us with our needs. For their own safety, they wanted to establish their good will for when the British arrived. It would have been a great mistake to break out from camp on our own, because of the roaming SS officers, although it was very tempting.
Well, we didn't have to wait very much longer, as the British arrived one day in March 1945, and our release from POW camp began. I had spent nearly two and a half years in captivity. On the whole we were treated like human beings, because of the Geneva Convention, and in these circumstances we survived in fairly fit condition. On the day of liberation I felt “like a fresh breeze”. Life had been routine and monotonous, and now it was changing dramatically. But there was no time for leisure.
Exactly four years after escaping from Poland, and three years after joining the British Army, on the 18th December 1942, I became a Prisoner of War. At that time, the British Eighth Army and the Americans were joining forces on the North African front, and Rommel’s German Army, together with some Italian forces, was fighting a rearguard action and was already retreating towards the continent of Europe. Thus I thought I would not be a prisoner for long. But how wrong I was!
Here I must mention one incident, which happened during my captivity at this Italian outpost. My driver and I were kept separate from other prisoners during the interrogation by the Italian commanding officer. We were only given a small ration of bread in the morning, and some kind of soup during the rest of the day. Of course this was insufficient and we were very hungry. I always ate some of the bread, and kept the remainder for later, but my driver finished his ration in one go. On the third day, he came towards me and threatened that unless I gave him the rest of my bread, he will tell the Italians that I am German and not British. I was outraged by his demand. Although he was much taller and better built than me, I took him by his lapel, shook him and hit him so hard, that he collapsed and hit his head on the wall. From the screams, the guards came in and asked what had happened. He looked at me, and, to my surprise, he said: “I collapsed from weakness”. We got double rations from then on, and he never bothered me any more.
The Italians shipped me, together with another seven British officers (two of whom were also from the S.A.S.), by submarine to Italy. On the way, when we thought we were near Malta, we tried to overcome the crew of the submarine, but failed in our attempt. We were, of course, severely punished, and after that, were kept like sardines lying on the floor, for the rest of the journey. On the third day after leaving Africa, we arrived in Italy and were taken to a Prisoner of War camp near Bari, in southern Italy.
Here again, I underwent long sessions of interrogation, but to no avail - I revealed only my name and rank. Here I must mention that, before we went into action, we had to consider the possibility of being captured. Therefore, I had already made up the story of my name being Maurice Tiffin, born in Montreal, and taken as a child to Palestine, where I joined the British Army. This was a precaution, in order to make my identity plausible and allow for my faulty English. What I had to hide was not that I was Jewish, but having been born in Germany. Anyhow, I went through these interrogations without being detected, and finally was registered as a POW born in Montreal. Later in the camp, I had a long conversation with one of the senior officers among the prisoners, and revealed to him my true story. As he was also a Canadian and a real one, who had direct contact with the International Red Cross, he arranged for me to have an aunt in Montreal who sent me food parcels.
Life in the camp in Italy was not too harsh. As a non-commissioned officer, I had the right to refuse to work for the enemy. Nevertheless, I had to keep busy somehow so I started to help in the kitchen where the food for the prisoners was prepared. Although the work was very hard, I had enough to eat, I still had time to do some physical training and also to meet other people. After a few weeks, an accident happened - a pot full of boiling water fell and the scalding water splashed all over my body and legs. The pain incurred is impossible to describe. The skin on the affected parts peeled off the flesh. I was taken to a civilian hospital in Bari, and kept there for nearly four weeks. Gradually, the healing process started; a thin layer of skin reappeared on my body. Even today, I cannot expose my legs to the sun for any length of time, as this area is still very sensitive.
This brought an end to my career as a cook, and I occupied my time in physical exercise and meeting with other prisoners to discuss the possibility of escape. Shortly after my stay in hospital, the Americans began making an impact on the Italian front. We were told that our camp was to be abandoned and we were to be moved to Northern Italy. A few days after this, we got our belongings together and started our journey, partly by train, partly walking, and within a few days we arrived in our new camp, just outside Udino. From the camp, on clear days, we could see the Yugoslav border, and occasionally even soldiers patrolling the border. We thought of escaping and joining Tito's liberation forces. The Italians were also aware of this possibility and the guard was strengthened to make escape impossible. Nevertheless, a few tried but, during my stay in this camp, as far as I can remember, only one or two succeeded, while the others were caught and brought back to the camp.
Here life was much harder than in the previous camp. The guards were North Italian soldiers, of different stock than those from the South. However we gradually organised ourselves into a certain routine, and life became bearable. In addition to the food provided by the Italians, mainly macaroni, we received Red Cross parcels from time to time, which supplemented our meagre diet. I still tried to keep fit by exercising, walking and running every morning within the boundaries of the camp. We also organised meetings and discussion groups on all topics.
There was no Jewish life as such in POW camp. There were some other Jewish soldiers with me but there was no possibility of keeping kashrut, Shabbat or Jewish holidays. Perhaps the only thing I was able to do was to avoid eating pork or bacon. On Shabbat we tried not to do much. I was well known because I liked to exchange meat tins for sardines. This was not considered suspicious, as the guards did not know of our activities.
In Italy, the barracks were very run down, and inhabited by rats and mice. Any food that was left out was eaten by mice, so we hung up washing lines and clipped our food to it. Rats were unable to balance on the thin lines, but the mice had no trouble. We often found them climbing up, gnawing their way through the line until the food fell to the floor and then eating it. One day I put my shoes on and found a mouse in one of them.
We tried, by all means possible, to keep informed of the news on the front, supplied by the guards or sometimes through a newspaper for which we bribed them. Life went on until September 1943, by which time I had already spent nine months in captivity. By then, the American Army had established a bridgehead in southern Italy, in spite of fierce fighting in the centre of the country. The Italians were ready to surrender by this time, but they were still in the grip of the Germans. The Italian commander of our camp discussed the situation with the senior officer of the prisoners, and came to an agreement that within a few days the whole camp - guards and prisoners - would abandon camp, march together to the south and surrender to the American Army. But on the very day that we were ready to leave and commence our march, the Germans arrived at 5 a.m. and took over the camp. They must have got wind of our plan, probably through some junior Italian officers. This ended our march to freedom! The Germans deported the Italian guards together with us. We felt completely helpless - we didn't have the strength or the equipment to overcome the Germans. It was a hopeless situation.
With the usual German efficiency, our evacuation was organised within hours. By midday, a goods train was ready at Udino railway station to take us to Austria, across the border from Italy. We were packed into the train, 50 men per wagon, and taken to Austria which was, of course, fully occupied by German troops. A few of us, myself included, tried to climb out from the little windows in the wagon, in an attempt to escape, but alas we were all recaptured the moment we jumped to the ground. I made two more attempts at escape in 1944, but the third time I tried, my commanding officer told me I was of more importance in the camp.
After two days of unbearable conditions in the train, we arrived at a camp in Southern Austria. Here, although the guards were very strict, life was not too bad. At some stage, we were allowed under heavy guard, in small groups, to go outside the camp to the next village and even enter a public bar to buy a beer. When some of us tried to escape, these outings were cancelled. However, after about three to four weeks, we were informed that we would be moved again. This journey was a long one and, after several days of severe discomfort, we arrived at a camp in western Prussia, near the city of Thorn. This was not very far from the Polish border. Here again, the first thing that came to mind was how to escape to Poland and join the Russian Army.
Conditions in this camp were very tough, even though the standard of housing was much better than at any previous camp. By the time we arrived at this part of northern Europe, it was already winter and very cold. With the meagre food, insufficient clothes and only one blanket per person that we received, we were hardly in a fit condition to resist the cold weather. It was definitely the hardest winter I ever went through. I never stopped taking exercise, consisting of early morning runs of five to seven kilometres each day. It helped me overcome the conditions better than others.
Meanwhile the Russians were advancing on the Eastern front and, with the Germans in retreat, we noticed the guards were very tense and nervous while making our life even more difficult. Food was getting scarce and privileges were cut to a minimum. We were in a jubilant mood because we thought that, with the Russians nearing our camp, our POW life would come to an end. But once again, German efficiency organised the withdrawal of several hundred prisoners to the west. We were told to take only the minimum of personal belongings. Under strong guard, we walked for three weeks during the autumn of 1944. Conditions were very, very hard. Many of the prisoners collapsed by the wayside. What happened to them I don't know. Food was insufficient. At night we slept in open fields, without enough protection against the cold.
Finally we arrived in a place called Fallingbostle, not far from Hanover in western Germany. Completely exhausted, we tried to settle down, as best we could, to camp life. Within a few days we were joined by more POWs - NCOs and officers - evacuated from Stallag 7, later famous, through the film “The Wooden Horse”, for a mass escape.
There I met up with soldiers from Palestine, whom I knew from the early days of my army life. They were captured in Greece and were taken captive 18 months before me. Many of the prisoners were Air Force officers. We immediately got to work on counter-intelligence, gathering information necessary for escape, as well as getting in contact with the British Army. We had some experts who could put together some kind of radio to hear the BBC news, and were also able to put up a transmitter to send information to the First British Army. My contribution was, of course, my knowledge of German. I was able to obtain essential material in exchange for coffee, chocolate and such things, using the parcels we received from time to time through the Red Cross. Thus, we built a transmitter, which we kept hidden, initially, by moving it from barrack to barrack, and finally by setting it up under the hut of the German commanding officer. It was never discovered, despite the Germans time and again breaking into our barracks, ripping open floors, searching with dogs and threatening us with all kinds of punishments.
In the late summer of 1944, we were joined by officers of paratrooper units, who were dropped near Dieppe in France, the majority being captured. It nevertheless lifted our spirits, as we felt that in spite of such failures, the second front was due to come, bringing our captivity to an end. What we felt, was also felt by the Germans. As they saw the German eastern front collapsing and the Russians advancing, they became a little more friendly, fearing what was to come. We took advantage of this attitude and succeeded in getting a few more prisoners ready for escape. Some succeeded, others not. I thought I should try my luck and escape. However my colleagues and co-prisoners thought that I could contribute more to our efforts with my work in the camp, and we agreed that, for the time being, I stay put. I continued with my contribution towards counter-intelligence, and with my personal keep-fit.
With the news of successes on both the Russian and Allied sides, life in the camp was never dull, and our activity increased. We tried to escape from the monotony of our day-to-day existence. I did a lot of sport and instructed about 50 soldiers in physical training every morning. There were soldiers who were artistic and painted. We also held concerts and organised plays. The food, however, was getting worse from day to day. The transport system had completely broken down, because of British and American bombings. Our supply of Red Cross parcels came to a complete halt.
I must point out, at this point, that the best way of economising with food was to get together in groups and pool our food rations. As we received one loaf of bread per day to be shared by seven people, it was logical to organise groups of seven. I joined a group of three Canadians, two Australians, one British and myself. All these people were very friendly with each other and had a lot of the same ideas. Our group sharing was most successful. We agreed from the beginning that, while the German rations, together with the food from the Red Cross parcels, was fairly adequate, we must save some of the durable food in tins and packets for a rainy day. This policy turned out to be very wise, for the time came when food rations were no longer sufficient. So, when many others suffered from lack of food, we, under the circumstances, were fairly well supplied.
The most important thing was, of course, the certainty that, with the second front being opened, the war could not last much longer. As I mentioned previously, we were in daily contact with the First British Army. In this way we were fully acquainted with the developments on the front. Meanwhile, the Germans guarding our camp became friendlier with us. Their position was getting more and more hopeless.
One day during the month of February 1945, the Germans informed us of their worsening situation. The British Army was advancing towards our camp, and there were Nazi elite Storm Troopers roaming in the woods. They believed the safest thing to do would be to surrender to us, and therewith handed over their arms and ammunition. We accepted their surrender, and took all the Germans, in the camp compound, under our protection.
We immediately organised guard duty around the clock, and Groups went with an armed escort to the nearby villages in order to bring in some food. The villagers were only too happy to supply us with our needs. For their own safety, they wanted to establish their good will for when the British arrived. It would have been a great mistake to break out from camp on our own, because of the roaming SS officers, although it was very tempting.
Well, we didn't have to wait very much longer, as the British arrived one day in March 1945, and our release from POW camp began. I had spent nearly two and a half years in captivity. On the whole we were treated like human beings, because of the Geneva Convention, and in these circumstances we survived in fairly fit condition. On the day of liberation I felt “like a fresh breeze”. Life had been routine and monotonous, and now it was changing dramatically. But there was no time for leisure.
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