The only thing I remember is the distant Clock-Tower, thinking of my sister, and I somehow managed to sneak into the camp for a few minutes. Don't ask me how I did that. Maybe there was a chance, because we had to use the camp toilets.
After two weeks confinement, we were back in the Camp. We talked about our experiences. The next escapees took cutters to cut through fences, avoided villages and took water along. They all arrived safely back home. Then came the great escape from this camp. I have never heard this mentioned anywhere.
The outside working groups received their lunch from the camp delivered by truck. These trucks were driven by reliable POW's. One day many POW's had vanished without any trace. Days later same thing happened again. The camp was thoroughly searched by the Americans, but nothing was discovered. Another night; everybody was called outside.
The Americans came with their weapons into the camp searching everywhere, counted all POW's, and again found nothing. The guards had been given the order to shoot anybody outside the building during nights. Bullet holes in the walls proved that they did shoot at night. This meant that we could no longer use the toilets during the night, as these were outside. Miraculously some writing appeared on the outside wall in big white oil paint: 'Concentration Camp'.
This went on until one day a guard realized what was going on, when he saw a POW waving from the back of the lunch delivery truck, that left the camp for his trip. That was the end of it all. The answer was simple. The driver of the lunch delivery truck, first went full speed towards the Belgian/German border, where his load of POW's disappeared in a forest. He then returned to deliver the lunch.
In the beginning of November 1946 came my transfer to a POW camp in Henri Chapelle, Belgium. This camp was very near the Belgian/German and near the Belgian/Dutch borders. As usual, there were barbed wire fences with Belgian guards. This time we had quite good tents to sleep in and a few timber barracks. Now came an extremely nasty job. It was the moving of German war cemeteries to a new location in Bourg Leopold, Belgium. This involved the opening of year old graves and the transfer of bodies to the new location.
At the beginning I had to work on the nearby cemetery, where our job was to exhume the German section and prepare for transport in boxes. The work was partly finished here, when daily truck loads of POW's were taken, via the Belgian/German border to a cemetery in Margraten, Holland.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Saturday, July 7, 2007
...one cup of water and a small piece of white bread. This was the ideal diet to lose weight.
In the evening we kept on walking. We reached a village, where people were just leaving a cinema. We split up into three groups of two POW's. At a distance, two at a time, we walked past the place. What we did not know was that some of those behind us had been caught already there, and messages were on their way to tell all police stations in the area about us. I became very thirsty and found some water in total darkness. Who knows what it was; it tasted awful and I soon became violently sick.
At the beginning of the next township, by the name of Vervier, there was a man's toilet. The water running down the wall was my saviour; I soon felt lots better. The two of us walked along the night street, nearing a bridge over a river, when I noticed two Belgian Policeman on the other side of the bridge. It was too late to go back, and the river was obviously not deep enough to jump in. There was no choice but to walk on.
Passing those Policeman, one of them said in German: "Halt, stehen bleiben!" (Stop, stand still!) I ignored this command and kept going, when I heard the pistols being loaded behind me, with a noticeable click. That was it; both of us turned around and were taken to the police station in Verviers and put behind bars. There were already two other POW's from our group. We tried to tell as little as possible, but it was obvious who we where. I saw a fault in the monkey cage I was in, which would have allowed me to get out, if it was not for a policeman sleeping in the same room overnight.
Early in the morning loud voices and Belgian Soldiers entered the room. I was absolutely terrified by their action and thought they were going to execute me. A very terrible feeling it was. Outside there was a Jeep with which we were taken to a Belgian POW Camp. Here I finally stopped worrying. I was strip searched and questioned further. At first I did not disclose where I had come from; only after I heard that here the POW's worked underground in a coal mine. I thought that was much worse than our job, so I told them that we came from the American Camp 3. At first they did not like to send us all back; we would have been handy working at this place. After some strong words, we were finally on our way back.
The Yankees could not understand why we tried to get away; they thought we had it so good with them. The punishment was 14 days confinement. As food we had only water and bread. A small barbed wire enclosure outside camp near the guard tower was our new accommodation.
We had two blankets per person; out in the open, on bare ground. Luckily it was summertime. Breakfast, Lunch, and dinner was one cup of water and a small piece of white bread. This was the ideal diet to lose weight.
At the beginning of the next township, by the name of Vervier, there was a man's toilet. The water running down the wall was my saviour; I soon felt lots better. The two of us walked along the night street, nearing a bridge over a river, when I noticed two Belgian Policeman on the other side of the bridge. It was too late to go back, and the river was obviously not deep enough to jump in. There was no choice but to walk on.
Passing those Policeman, one of them said in German: "Halt, stehen bleiben!" (Stop, stand still!) I ignored this command and kept going, when I heard the pistols being loaded behind me, with a noticeable click. That was it; both of us turned around and were taken to the police station in Verviers and put behind bars. There were already two other POW's from our group. We tried to tell as little as possible, but it was obvious who we where. I saw a fault in the monkey cage I was in, which would have allowed me to get out, if it was not for a policeman sleeping in the same room overnight.
Early in the morning loud voices and Belgian Soldiers entered the room. I was absolutely terrified by their action and thought they were going to execute me. A very terrible feeling it was. Outside there was a Jeep with which we were taken to a Belgian POW Camp. Here I finally stopped worrying. I was strip searched and questioned further. At first I did not disclose where I had come from; only after I heard that here the POW's worked underground in a coal mine. I thought that was much worse than our job, so I told them that we came from the American Camp 3. At first they did not like to send us all back; we would have been handy working at this place. After some strong words, we were finally on our way back.
The Yankees could not understand why we tried to get away; they thought we had it so good with them. The punishment was 14 days confinement. As food we had only water and bread. A small barbed wire enclosure outside camp near the guard tower was our new accommodation.
We had two blankets per person; out in the open, on bare ground. Luckily it was summertime. Breakfast, Lunch, and dinner was one cup of water and a small piece of white bread. This was the ideal diet to lose weight.
At this time some POW's had worked out how to escape.
A very sad incident happened one day during our march to the American depots. The guards were armed Belgians. On this day the long stretched line of POW's could not proceed as usual, when an irate guard fired at the last POW in the group and killed him.
The next two days nobody went out. We were demanding at least one American soldier to be with this group at all times, or we would not go at all. They had to oblige. A group of Red Cross people inspected the camp after they had received lots of complaints from the German camp leader. They did find a lot of things wrong. We never heard from them again.
A French mechanic in the motorcade was aligning an engine. When I came past, he pointed out that he needed my help. He showed me with his fingers what he meant (he wanted me to turn the engine) and said: "Comme ci, comme ca." This meant: so, so. (In German it means, stealing something). Then he said: "un petit peu, s'il vous plait." This meant: a little bit only, please. So I walked into the workshop when another mechanic sharpening something on the grindstone seemed to need some help. I took the handle and asked in just learned, perfect French: "comme ci, comme ca?" He dropped everything and was so happy finding somebody who talked French: "Oh, parler vous francais?" My answer: "Non parler francais, Monsieur."
A letter arrived; my parents telling me that my sister would soon be married. At this time some POW's had worked out how to escape. I was included in a group of six. We were the first to give it a try. One of the guards was bribed with pieces of soap, which were very rare in Belgium after the war. We already had removed the white POW from our American looking uniforms and slackened a particular section of the fence. The night had arrived. Five went through the fence; I was the last and got stuck in the barbed wire. Then a POW came and said that the guard will shoot if anybody else gets out. Having no choice I tore myself loose from the wire, and down a small incline, started running. I soon found the others and we started walking. It was a nice summer night. Some bushes had glow-worms flying around; I never saw that before.
Walking along country roads, hiding whenever a vehicle came past, I finally was on my way home. After quite a while advancing like this, I saw the Clock-Tower and realized, that we had walked in a big circle. The morning came and we took refuge around a recessed water hole in the centre of a meadow on top of a hill. It started raining, and I became hungry and thirsty. Taking no water along was one of many mistakes we made. The water meant for the cows, came in handy. During the day, we were almost discovered by a passing by farmer.
The next two days nobody went out. We were demanding at least one American soldier to be with this group at all times, or we would not go at all. They had to oblige. A group of Red Cross people inspected the camp after they had received lots of complaints from the German camp leader. They did find a lot of things wrong. We never heard from them again.
A French mechanic in the motorcade was aligning an engine. When I came past, he pointed out that he needed my help. He showed me with his fingers what he meant (he wanted me to turn the engine) and said: "Comme ci, comme ca." This meant: so, so. (In German it means, stealing something). Then he said: "un petit peu, s'il vous plait." This meant: a little bit only, please. So I walked into the workshop when another mechanic sharpening something on the grindstone seemed to need some help. I took the handle and asked in just learned, perfect French: "comme ci, comme ca?" He dropped everything and was so happy finding somebody who talked French: "Oh, parler vous francais?" My answer: "Non parler francais, Monsieur."
A letter arrived; my parents telling me that my sister would soon be married. At this time some POW's had worked out how to escape. I was included in a group of six. We were the first to give it a try. One of the guards was bribed with pieces of soap, which were very rare in Belgium after the war. We already had removed the white POW from our American looking uniforms and slackened a particular section of the fence. The night had arrived. Five went through the fence; I was the last and got stuck in the barbed wire. Then a POW came and said that the guard will shoot if anybody else gets out. Having no choice I tore myself loose from the wire, and down a small incline, started running. I soon found the others and we started walking. It was a nice summer night. Some bushes had glow-worms flying around; I never saw that before.
Walking along country roads, hiding whenever a vehicle came past, I finally was on my way home. After quite a while advancing like this, I saw the Clock-Tower and realized, that we had walked in a big circle. The morning came and we took refuge around a recessed water hole in the centre of a meadow on top of a hill. It started raining, and I became hungry and thirsty. Taking no water along was one of many mistakes we made. The water meant for the cows, came in handy. During the day, we were almost discovered by a passing by farmer.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
You are prisoner Nr.1 and I am prisoner Nr.2...
Every morning truck loads of POW's were taken through the suburbs of Liege to an outside, distant American War Cemetery All other POW's were marched, under Belgian armed guards, to various American Army depots. For many months I went with the trucks to a distant cemetery.
Here was my first job, digging holes for graves using a pick and shovel, because the ground was partly slate. Painting the timber crosses white as well as putting the names on in black with a machine made stencil, was a much easier job. There were many crosses for unknown soldiers. Lots of ground levelling had to be done as well.
During the lunch hour, burial ceremonies were held which I could watch from the distance. Afterwards we closed those finished graves. The idea of escaping was on my mind, but this place was further away from the Belgian/German border. One day using a wheel-barrow, I was a little slow. An American guard pushed his loaded gun into my back and started yelling: "Let's go, let's go!"... to which I did not respond. My mind was thinking only of going home; nothing else mattered. I wished he would pull the trigger.
Another time on our way to the cemetery, through the suburbs of Liege people threw tomatoes from a house at us; one of them hit me in the face. On the way back to camp in the evening miraculously many POW's were equipped with a rubber catapult. Passing the place from where the tomatoes had come in the morning one big clatter and all windows were shattered in that place. From there on, never again was anything thrown at us. The whole population must have heard or read about it.
Close to the cemetery was a 90ΓΈ road curve in the road. Usually Negroes were driving the huge semi-trailers in open canopies through this corner at full speed. They could drive alright and it looked very funny indeed. My next work places were near the camp. In one of them I happened to talk to an American Negro. He said to me: "You are prisoner Nr.1 and I am prisoner Nr.2." I never understood why he said that.
In a motorcade my next assignment was to dig a hole for a new outside toilet. A few of us started digging. Since there was no order how deep it should be, we ended up with an almost two man deep hole. We then asked the NCO to check it out. He nearly had a fit; someone could fall in there and drown, so we had to fill it up half way.
Here was my first job, digging holes for graves using a pick and shovel, because the ground was partly slate. Painting the timber crosses white as well as putting the names on in black with a machine made stencil, was a much easier job. There were many crosses for unknown soldiers. Lots of ground levelling had to be done as well.
During the lunch hour, burial ceremonies were held which I could watch from the distance. Afterwards we closed those finished graves. The idea of escaping was on my mind, but this place was further away from the Belgian/German border. One day using a wheel-barrow, I was a little slow. An American guard pushed his loaded gun into my back and started yelling: "Let's go, let's go!"... to which I did not respond. My mind was thinking only of going home; nothing else mattered. I wished he would pull the trigger.
Another time on our way to the cemetery, through the suburbs of Liege people threw tomatoes from a house at us; one of them hit me in the face. On the way back to camp in the evening miraculously many POW's were equipped with a rubber catapult. Passing the place from where the tomatoes had come in the morning one big clatter and all windows were shattered in that place. From there on, never again was anything thrown at us. The whole population must have heard or read about it.
Close to the cemetery was a 90ΓΈ road curve in the road. Usually Negroes were driving the huge semi-trailers in open canopies through this corner at full speed. They could drive alright and it looked very funny indeed. My next work places were near the camp. In one of them I happened to talk to an American Negro. He said to me: "You are prisoner Nr.1 and I am prisoner Nr.2." I never understood why he said that.
In a motorcade my next assignment was to dig a hole for a new outside toilet. A few of us started digging. Since there was no order how deep it should be, we ended up with an almost two man deep hole. We then asked the NCO to check it out. He nearly had a fit; someone could fall in there and drown, so we had to fill it up half way.
From now on I was under armed guards all the time
The end of the World War 2, was the end of the Citadel in Liege. Dramatic changes occurred. I was now a POW working for an American Labor Service Company:
POW Oncken Jurgen
POW Nr. 31G 993 754
4440 HQS QM Service Company
8795 Labor Service Company
148th L S Center
APO 223 US Army
It was a burial Company, organizing War Cemeteries. In my case it meant relocating all German burial grounds to a central Cemetery for fallen German soldiers, in Bourg Leopold, Belgium.
But at first I was working on an American War Cemetery. For this I was moved to Camp 3. This was a rectangular, barbed wire fenced area, outside Liege, Belgium. At its front it had a building with an entrance on either side of it.
All around the outside was a small stretch of neglected grass and bush land. The fence itself was doubled with a roll of barbed wire in its bottom centre.
In the middle of it all was another target practice building of concrete construction with a central wall that made it two separate POW quarters, of considerable length. This one was much dryer, but lots of rats were around.
From now on I was under armed guards all the time, and behind barbed wire fences; not to forget POW printed on all my clothes. In good memory, is a nearby clock tower, with a green lit dial at night, and on the other side of camp a Highway not far. This time our kitchen was inside the camp. Washing facilities and toilets were outside between building and fence, rather primitive in every way.
The American soldiers were from now on only in supervisory positions. The guards were replaced by Belgians. The French speaking Walonen did not like the Jerry POW's, the Dutch speaking Flamen were more understanding.
We slept on steel frame beds with some sort of mattress on it. There was sandy soil underneath and a concrete roof over the top with some huge air vents across. It did not take long until primitive walls were erected, causing small POW groups to sleep together.
POW Oncken Jurgen
POW Nr. 31G 993 754
4440 HQS QM Service Company
8795 Labor Service Company
148th L S Center
APO 223 US Army
It was a burial Company, organizing War Cemeteries. In my case it meant relocating all German burial grounds to a central Cemetery for fallen German soldiers, in Bourg Leopold, Belgium.
But at first I was working on an American War Cemetery. For this I was moved to Camp 3. This was a rectangular, barbed wire fenced area, outside Liege, Belgium. At its front it had a building with an entrance on either side of it.
All around the outside was a small stretch of neglected grass and bush land. The fence itself was doubled with a roll of barbed wire in its bottom centre.
In the middle of it all was another target practice building of concrete construction with a central wall that made it two separate POW quarters, of considerable length. This one was much dryer, but lots of rats were around.
From now on I was under armed guards all the time, and behind barbed wire fences; not to forget POW printed on all my clothes. In good memory, is a nearby clock tower, with a green lit dial at night, and on the other side of camp a Highway not far. This time our kitchen was inside the camp. Washing facilities and toilets were outside between building and fence, rather primitive in every way.
The American soldiers were from now on only in supervisory positions. The guards were replaced by Belgians. The French speaking Walonen did not like the Jerry POW's, the Dutch speaking Flamen were more understanding.
We slept on steel frame beds with some sort of mattress on it. There was sandy soil underneath and a concrete roof over the top with some huge air vents across. It did not take long until primitive walls were erected, causing small POW groups to sleep together.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
The war ended. That was the moment when everything changed dramatically.
It was still wartime, and occasionally I went with the ambulances to pick up wounded from the railway station, and had to help transporting them to their wards. The kitchen had always a jar of my favorite peanut butter available for me. It represented another means of survival for me, during those night shifts.
During kitchen duties, I quickly learned how to snatch a pancake from the POW cooking them. The guard was looking, but he never picked the trick, which only required a small tea towel.
An epidemic of diarrhoea happened twice. Can you imagine a camp of POW's, all having to use the limited facilities at once? That's what happened. I cannot describe the situation; it would turn you off, reading any further. Years later I found out, that some Yankee gave us extra meat, spiced with soap of some kind. One of the POW's working in the Hospital, said that he would kill himself drinking the alcohol, used for cleaning the instruments. He died shortly after. The Americans were not allowed to find out about it; his body was carted into the POW camp underneath some fire wood. What happened after, I don't know.
Then came the day to deliver lunch to a Yankee prisoner in the small jail building. Two armed guards with drawn pistols, carefully opened this prisoner's cell. There he was, a tall black fellow, both hands and legs handcuffed to the radiator in the rooms corner. I did not feel too good at that moment. But you see, I am still here; nothing happened to me. A piece of bacon to clean the bathroom hot water service, found its way into the camp. Here it was cooked and consumed.
I had some entertaining moments when a few Americans started to play a guitar and others were step dancing. They must have been professionals. So time went on; many other incidents came about. Some of them were not worth mentioning, others might be discriminating. Don't ever think that this was all as easy as reading about it. In my memory it remains a pretty unhappy time. All this time 'POW' marked uniforms. Nightly behind barbed wire fences, and armed guards about most of the time.
We wanted to go home, only home!
The war ended. That was the moment when everything changed dramatically.
During kitchen duties, I quickly learned how to snatch a pancake from the POW cooking them. The guard was looking, but he never picked the trick, which only required a small tea towel.
An epidemic of diarrhoea happened twice. Can you imagine a camp of POW's, all having to use the limited facilities at once? That's what happened. I cannot describe the situation; it would turn you off, reading any further. Years later I found out, that some Yankee gave us extra meat, spiced with soap of some kind. One of the POW's working in the Hospital, said that he would kill himself drinking the alcohol, used for cleaning the instruments. He died shortly after. The Americans were not allowed to find out about it; his body was carted into the POW camp underneath some fire wood. What happened after, I don't know.
Then came the day to deliver lunch to a Yankee prisoner in the small jail building. Two armed guards with drawn pistols, carefully opened this prisoner's cell. There he was, a tall black fellow, both hands and legs handcuffed to the radiator in the rooms corner. I did not feel too good at that moment. But you see, I am still here; nothing happened to me. A piece of bacon to clean the bathroom hot water service, found its way into the camp. Here it was cooked and consumed.
I had some entertaining moments when a few Americans started to play a guitar and others were step dancing. They must have been professionals. So time went on; many other incidents came about. Some of them were not worth mentioning, others might be discriminating. Don't ever think that this was all as easy as reading about it. In my memory it remains a pretty unhappy time. All this time 'POW' marked uniforms. Nightly behind barbed wire fences, and armed guards about most of the time.
We wanted to go home, only home!
The war ended. That was the moment when everything changed dramatically.
The story goes that it had been tried many times to establish its depth, without discovering this secret.
In this place I learned why there was a bad feeling against the Germans. Our meals were served in a room, containing benches and tables. The walls and ceiling were half-moon shaped; on either end of this, was a flat brick wall. This room, like many others, was built into the surrounding walls of the citadel. There was another door to the right of the one we used, which had an exit leading to a cemetery .
A couple of metres further to the right, the wall showed bullet marks. This was where the German Army executed Belgians during their occupation of Belgium. I never dared go near this area, but I looked at it with sad, regrettable feelings every day.
Another entrance led many steps down into various underground halls. The lowest one of them had a heavy barricaded exit door. Padlocked at all times, was a door leading to the most fascinating of all under ground halls. A rough built stairway led down into a big circular room. An all round ceiling made from bricks, had a cast iron air vent in its top centre through which I could see daylight
Of all things, I recognized this ceiling vent as the place above ground where I sometimes helped cleaning the garden. I never went near that spot again. Every time I entered this hall I quivered. This place gave me the horrors. I tell you why. In the centre of this dark and horrible place exactly underneath the air vent was a huge and deep well with a small brick wall around it. Looking down with fear, I could see a very wide, round and gruesome dark hole in the ground in front of my feet. Deep down a few old timber beams were visible.
The citadel was pretty high up above sea level; it must have been difficult to find any water from this height. The story goes that it had been tried many times to establish its depth, without discovering this secret. Throwing something down, I never heard the impact. Another story goes, that the Belgians threw things into this well and knew from where to pick them up at the bottom of it.
Let's talk about other things. For some unknown reason I was punished. I had no meals for one day, only water. A POW kitchen personal, obviously to me, hid something in the toilet. I quickly found a reason to go there and found a big box of biscuits for me. I gobbled up the lot, within seconds.
Things got a bit easier; I was trusted a bit more and various jobs came along. Looking after electrical problems was one of them. Opposite from the Yankee quarters was a multistorey building the same size. This was an American Army Hospital.
A couple of metres further to the right, the wall showed bullet marks. This was where the German Army executed Belgians during their occupation of Belgium. I never dared go near this area, but I looked at it with sad, regrettable feelings every day.
Another entrance led many steps down into various underground halls. The lowest one of them had a heavy barricaded exit door. Padlocked at all times, was a door leading to the most fascinating of all under ground halls. A rough built stairway led down into a big circular room. An all round ceiling made from bricks, had a cast iron air vent in its top centre through which I could see daylight
Of all things, I recognized this ceiling vent as the place above ground where I sometimes helped cleaning the garden. I never went near that spot again. Every time I entered this hall I quivered. This place gave me the horrors. I tell you why. In the centre of this dark and horrible place exactly underneath the air vent was a huge and deep well with a small brick wall around it. Looking down with fear, I could see a very wide, round and gruesome dark hole in the ground in front of my feet. Deep down a few old timber beams were visible.
The citadel was pretty high up above sea level; it must have been difficult to find any water from this height. The story goes that it had been tried many times to establish its depth, without discovering this secret. Throwing something down, I never heard the impact. Another story goes, that the Belgians threw things into this well and knew from where to pick them up at the bottom of it.
Let's talk about other things. For some unknown reason I was punished. I had no meals for one day, only water. A POW kitchen personal, obviously to me, hid something in the toilet. I quickly found a reason to go there and found a big box of biscuits for me. I gobbled up the lot, within seconds.
Things got a bit easier; I was trusted a bit more and various jobs came along. Looking after electrical problems was one of them. Opposite from the Yankee quarters was a multistorey building the same size. This was an American Army Hospital.
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