Then came the great escape from this camp. I have never heard this mentioned anywhere.

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.

...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 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.

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 90ø 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.

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.

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.

I quickly put my watch underneath the snow near my shoes, and this way I managed to keep it.

We all walked, under armed guards, to a room in an empty house. On the way I could see the enormously advanced outfits of the Yanks. All their Jeeps had rather small two way radios in them, like I had never seen before in a German vehicle. After a while they had collected lots more prisoners, and we were finally marched away from the front line to a more distant house.

There was a line-up for a body search. I could not believe my eyes; the Yanks snatched all the watches from the Jerrys. Seeing this, I quickly put my watch underneath the snow near my shoes, and this way I managed to keep it. We were taken by truck to a backyard garage in a small town. For the first time we had some food and drink. We were used to lots of soups; the American calories therefore did not fill our stomachs too well!

Via a castle on top of a hill, and after a severe interrogation in front of a large map hanging on the wall there, we arrived at a fenced camp. It may have been in Namur, Belgium. Again we were interrogated, and returned every time to a different quarter, so that nobody could hide something and come back to pick it up later. This time my Iron Cross, personal papers and photographs were removed. I never saw them again.

What happened to the small trees in the yard? All of the leaves were gone! I soon found out when it smelled bad around me that someone was smoking these leaves, rolled in any paper available. Then we came to our new destination for the next months; which was on top of a hill, the Citadel in Liege, Belgium. The POW camp was outside the Citadel, alongside its walls.

It was a disused concrete roofed target practice building with large openings in the roof. What a rotten place it was to be. It was so moist that I later had to build a primitive roof over the bed, which daily collected a bucket of condensed water. It was still war, and there was quite an anti-German feeling about. There were barbed wire fences and armed guards most of the time. I was a POW (Prisoner of war). A large white 'POW' was on every part of the black dyed outfits.

Every day a short walk took us into the Citadel itself. Groups were organized for all kinds of jobs. My ability at the start, seemed to be good enough for house cleaning. The place to clean was a huge two story building, which was the soldiers' quarters. I was to start in the morning sweeping very long 2 parallel floors, and in the afternoon mopping the same floors until supper. Then it was time to go back to the camp.

Food was scarce, so I took anything edible; even from the rubbish bins. I would eat anything. Some soldiers threw chocolates into the bins before I came to them. Doing this, they had to make sure that their mates did not see them. Here I had my first English lessons, talking to an Italian-American. He was my guard and used every chance to take me behind a door here he asked me all about Germany.

Captured, but his parents get news months later

Certified Copy. Fieldpostnumber, 42 687 e

In the West, the 22.2.1945.
Dear Mr.Oncken ! I have the sad duty to inform you, that your son, the Senior-Gunner Jurgen Oncken, is since 23.1.45. missing.

He was at last in St.Vith, District Malmedy. About this town were already in December hard fights. So also again from 21. to 23.1.45. During the 23.1.45 the Americans succeeded in capturing this town. There the battery was commissioned into anti-tank combat. Since then, there is not any news from your son. Because nobody returned from those parts of the battery commissioned there, I cannot give you any accurate information of your sons whereabouts.

It is a probability, that your son was taken prisoner. Should this be so, you will be informed via the American Red Cross within the next months. The Battery loses in your son a keen and responsible soldier and deeply regrets this loss. We shall always have him in good memory.

I cannot return any private items, since he had these all with him.

I salute you with Heil Hitler

signed Minz(?) Staff Sergeant (Stamps)

Conformity of preceding copy with the original is hereby certified. Neuenbrok, the 5.3.1945. The Mayor of the Municipality Moorriem by order: (signature)

---------------------------- NOTE:
We were captured by the Americans and became POWs in the late afternoon of the 23.1.1945. From St.Vith transported via a few holding and questioning camps to Liege in Belgium. The American Red Cross, to my knowledge, never informed my parents. It took many months before my parents had any news of my whereabouts! The first mail came via private people in Cologne. This explains why I received mail before I could write myself.

"The yanks are here!"

New Years day 1944/45 had arrived. The news came to me that a promotion to Ober-Kanonier (Senior Gunner) for me was decided. This to me was an insult and I successfully avoided the occasion by volunteering for guard duty. This meant that I was not available at the time of issue. Never put that star, that goes with it, on to my uniform. This so-called promotion, was for sure the doing of an officer that did not like me too much.

From now on, day by day, we slowly moved back to where we had come from. First stop near a farm in Recht. A very cold night, time for me to warm up inside a shed, whilst on guard duty. Someone calling outside for the guard. That must be this lousy officer. Sure enough, it resulted in a extremely strong talking to, in the morning. Things like deserter, court-martial and other nice words.

On the 9.1.1944. I ended up in Nieder-Emmels. Our telephone operators were reported missing. This spot was under observation by the enemy. I had to hide behind a house at all times. A call for the Company to line up outside. My name was called and I had to step forward to receive the EK 2 (Eisernes Kreuz) Iron Cross 2nd class, quite an honour for me. That's funny, yesterday I was nearly shot and today I receive a medal? Something is gone haywire! Back to my beloved town St.Vith, the last place on earth for me to go to, at this moment. In one of the first houses, we all took shelter in a cellar.

Lack of ammunition for the cannons, the roads already mined and standing guard at the front line. Here I never forget the moment, when I reported a suspicious movement at our road barrier. The NCO from the Infantry said to me: "The sooner they come, the better." From that moment on, I bothered even less then before. The time had come to look after No.1 and try to stay alive.

23. January 1945, in the afternoon. My mate Albert Z. did wake me up in the afternoon with the words: "Take your belt off and come outside with your hands up, the Yanks are there." This explained why the officers and soldiers that went upstairs before me, did not return. Outside American soldiers made me stand against a wall, which was under fire from our own people. Forcing me and the others to stand straight. Bullets were hitting the wall above me.

Another one of those unbelievable things occurred. There came this Jerry running and shouting: "The yanks are here!" He had not realized, he was running directly towards them. When one of the American soldiers turned around and fired a few shots. The Jerry made a somersault, got up and held his hand, That's where he got hit. How lucky can you be?

St. Vith was on fire and in ruins. It was time to move on.

24.12.1944. Then came the big one. A huge mass of bombers flattened the whole town. Again I was right in the middle of it. I was taking shelter in the garage corner under a low window, when a bomb hit outside, close to the wall. There was a powder smell, smoke, and me covered by bits and pieces. The garage door was now inside, over the top of everything. I was OK, but the soldier who went outside a moment before the bombing started was never seen again; not a piece.

Outside were bomb craters all around. Shrapnel pieces went right through the cannon's protection shields.

25.12.1944. St. Vith was on fire and in ruins. It was time to move on. A captured Dodge pulled the cannon. Driving through town, another Jabo tried his luck. Running for my life around a corner of the nearest house, I fell flat bang on my belly. "BOOM," the third near miss for me.

Quickly we got into the car and off we went, before the plane returned. One of us found a packet of asthma cigarettes. I tried one of them; ugh! phew! They really tasted bad. Every time we passed foot soldiers we gave them a few. I wonder what they thought of us, after trying those awful smokes.

26.12.1944. Onwards we went, via Roth, Recht to Pont. In a side street with a couple of houses, I found my Company. Here were hills all round. The cannons found their place behind the houses, under trees. Our bedroom was in the cellar of the first house. Before our big retreat started from here, first another two of my well known behaviour actions or reactions were due.

In the rush of the past days my cap went missing. I was the only soldier walking around with a steel helmet on. That thing had a camouflage cover which I found somewhere. My mates told me to get rid of it; if the Yanks caught me with it they would shoot me, because it was from the SS. That thing went quick smart into the fire. The order came to look for another cap. Across the road was supposed to be a cellar, where that sort of thing could be. There was only one problem; this crossing was under enemy shelling. I would have to sprint to a little prayer building first and then on to the other side of the crossing.

Standing behind that refuge, I could hear 'bang, bang.' Cannons fired in the distance and "BOOM, BOOM" the bullets had arrived. Splinters flew over my head into the wall. Some of these gun shots exploded in the air above me, shrapnel coming by the hundreds from above, at the same time. Out in the open, they surely would have hit me. I came safely back, with or without a cap, I don't remember. But there was a strong smell of chlorine in the place over the road; do you know what that means? [Not sure, does anybody know what he means?]

Tracers, noise and fear

Something made me attach myself to one of our MG 42's (Maschinengewehr = machine gun), give it a clean and general look over. Then I went down to the street, where there were ammunition boxes left behind. I picked up a couple, making sure there were definitely no tracer bullets in them.

My best friend Albert Zucker wanted me to come along and see whether we could snatch a deserted Yankee vehicle, standing in the no man's land. We crawled along the edge of the road to get nearer. I was terrified with his idea, because the Yanks were unceasingly firing at this spot. We had to give up and crawl back. The same night the telephone cable needed repairs near that deserted vehicle. Here one of our telephone operators was killed. He was buried in front of a bush beside the road.

22.12.1944. Late afternoon a counter attack started. First there were bullets whistling through the air. This made me find a spot on the field, near the cannons with my MG 42. I made adjustments and waited. Our own big Guns started firing from behind. With a terrible mistake, they aimed too short. Now we got shot at from front and back. Pretty close too; causing quite a panic.

Tracer bullets were coming from spots on the opposite hill. It was time to act, aiming and firing a few rounds. There were no more tracers coming from that place. I repeated this action many times until no more tracers came from anywhere. This all went on until deep into the night. Somebody was looking for our NCO, who was hiding in a dug-out. The noise around was horrible. I prayed to God to please save me. God must have heard this non-believer down there, shaking in terrible fear.

To the right of us, in the bush, some soldiers started screaming. A mortar group suffered a direct hit. With explosions everywhere, this was real war. Finally it slowly ended. The attack had been repelled. After this I ended up in St. Vith in Belgium. One cannon went further forward, and the other stayed here; so did I. Talking about hair raising moments that waited for me; this was a town to be avoided.

My stay over night was in the house in which General Rundstedt had been before. His telephone switchboard was still operating in the garage. Here I found a spot in the corner of the garage, alongside the outside brick wall, to settle down. Discovering the surroundings, another Jabo (Jagd-Bomber = fighter-bomber) went for me, but he also must have aimed at something else. Next thing, I was standing in a house that had no cellar, when a bomber decided to drop his goodies. Not very nice, I can tell you.

I'd rather walk than get a lift with the SS, and a lucky escape from P38 attack

My luck again! The enemy was retreating and I was ordered to walk overnight to a site, suitable to place our cannons. This spot was only pointed out to me on a map. When I tried to get a lift, I noticed SS soldiers on the vehicle; forget about it! Still today, I very much dislike their black uniforms, with a silvery skull displayed on it. There was a general dislike attached to this type of army, by the ordinary German soldier. Another miracle was when I found the correct spot without misfortunes of any kind. It was still dark.

A small shelter in the nearby bush was already waiting for me, to have a well deserved sleep. I woke up hearing planes buzzing around. These were not the promised 3000 Germans. These were British twin-tailed fighter bombers. They went directly down onto the Jerry Flak (Flieger Abwehr Kanone = aeroplane defence cannon), until the Flak was out of action. Those pilots displayed enormous courage. Along came two officers of our company, telling me that the Americans had retreated much further than expected and our cannons had already gone past this hide-out.

On the way they disclosed very bad news. My company was attacked by those enemy planes. Four of the RSO's, and two cannons were destroyed. Four men lost their lives, whilst hiding underneath the Cannons. The No.1 Gunner position ended here; my cannon was 'kaput'. The only thing left was one of the two vehicles, on which there was my gear. Here was another reason for me to be sad but also happy. Another miracle, that I was not there, at the time of the attack.

On my way walking along a road, this bomber decided to have a go at me, at least that is exactly what it looked like. It turned around and started to dive, leaving a lot of small black clouds behind it and then an egg came out from under it. Man did I speed for shelter, and fell down on my face. "BOOM". That was a bit far away. He had aimed at the road, not me. Now I know, those little clouds represented his cannon firing real bullets. 

I finally found my Company hiding at the edge of a bush. In front of this position was a small valley and behind it, not very far, tree covered hills. Did I tell you that it was winter? There was plenty of snow and it was ice-cold outside. The idea of a warm room was always on my mind. No luck; first a hole in the ground, and on the bottom pine tree twigs as a bed, and over the top some branches to keep the snow out. In addition a couple of times during the night, was my turn as sentry for two hours. It was cold alright, very cold.

A German soldier fills an officer's boots with water, and the Battle of the Bulge begins

Nearly every night a couple of shells were returned to the opposition. Some success reports came back from the observer position. During November 1944, three soldiers of our group were wounded near our hide-out. They came screaming for help to us. We did our best. An ambulance had to take them away. We were at war and the unexpected could happen any time. I never comprehended how close it could come to me.

My unwanted job, besides bringing food to the officer, was also cleaning his boots daily. Very angry about it, I simply filled the boots with water in the evening and delivered them wet in the morning. That did it. I was part of a group sent to the front line one night. The company's lookout post there had to be moved to another position. Places on the way were under enemy fire. We had to wait until the enemy stopped firing and then run for our life.

It was still November 1944. Safely back early in the morning, there was bad news; very bad for me. My young friend and others were walking along the road to pick up the meals for the company, when a shell exploded right above them in a tree. One soldier was badly wounded and my friend died on the spot. The funeral was near Rommersheim. I had to climb into the open grave and remove the cover from his face so a photo could be taken. Firing the salute, that was all we could do for him.

From then on, my way to the kitchen was right behind us over the hill. One night I was peacefully sitting there, when a fragment went right next to my arm through the timber post, hitting the opposite wall. Was someone after me? We kept this position for some time.

During one night, in early December 1944, came the order to move to the West Wall near the township of Ormond. Here were Bunkers and Tank traps near the German-Belgian border. Pictures of deserters were displayed, with the notice of the death sentence for them, in absence.
We waited for the big event to happen. It did shortly before Christmas. The officer that made the announcement, mentioned 3000 German planes in the air, next morning.

16.12.1944 at midnight it started. We were only onlookers from a West Wall pillbox, at this stage. There was quite a noise and fireworks started. Launcher grenades, by the dozens, went over us with a terrible whistle and fire trail. It was the start of the Rundstedt Offensive (Battle of the Bulge).

It's a real story, with real people

This blog is a real autobiography of a rebellious German soldier. It includes letters to home while was a prisoner after the second world war ended in Belgium, where we worked for about two years on war cemeteries digging graves and exhuming bodies. (Henry Chapelle for example) He was also my father.

He wrote his autobiography in 1995, it's metculous and more thoughtful than I'd expect from him to have written in English. At times, he writes of things he never spoke of while he breathed. He's dead now, but I think he'd enjoy this blog technology a lot, as he was a creative, inventive guy.

I'll be adding excerpts each week or so...