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.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
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.
Friday, May 25, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
"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?
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?]
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?]
Saturday, April 28, 2007
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.
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.
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