by Albert Holl
The Russians and Tartars passing us look at us curiously. Now we are on the street leading directly to Kama Camp, but it also leads right to the harbour. I know the place here well, having seen it for the first time in May, when I and my men had had to unload a barge in the harbour that had brought a load of flour. My mind held on to the unusual memory of an old woman in a fur coat with a hunting rifle standing sentry in front of the bread depot.
Now we have gone past the crossing so there can only be one goal for us: Kama Camp. We halt right in front of the newly erected camp and are handed over to the officer on duty.
We are curious about what is going to happen to us. Before we enter the camp the duty officer, Brijanzev, warns us not to speak. The few inhabitants of the camp have been sent to their rooms. We are quickly led through the camp to a large block that greatly exceeds the other buildings in size. Soon we find ourselves in a large room on the first floor. A Red Army soldier stands guard in front of the door.
To our great surprise we find the room occupied. Three men dressed in tattered rags, their heads shaven and as white as death, are already there. The little Jewish woman has already examined them.
‘They are putting us in with serious Russian criminals now!’ I whispered to Lieutenant-Colonel von Below. We went to the opposite corner of the room and laid our things down on the boards of the iron bedframes. We waited curiously to see what would happen next. Would these Russians leave? Would be searched again?
One of the three figures came up to us. He had a smooth skull, clear blue eyes and a sharp, slightly bent nose. His skin had the pallor of a corpse. He said with a slight bow: ‘May I introduce myself, Lieutenant Herfurth.’
We looked at each other in surprise. ‘What, you are Germans! We thought you were Russians!’
With a slightly sad smile Herfurth replied: ‘You are right, gentlemen, we no longer look like Germans, but when one has sat in prison for two years one’s clothing gets no better.’
‘How is it possible that you have been in prison for two years?’ we asked, full of curiosity, for standing here in front of us was a longterm prisoner, who had been overtaken by the heavy fate of imprisonment shortly after the outbreak of war.
Once the female doctor had left, and we had introduced ourselves to the other prisoners, we heard their story. All three, Lieutenant Herfurth, Sergeant Eibel and Senior Corporal van Alst, had become prisoners of war of the Russians in 1941, Herfurth as a fighter pilot, Eibel as a signaller and van Alst as a motorcyclist in a reconnaissance battalion. They were brought to Jelabuga, where they lived with a few other prisoners. There was little to eat. Soon afterwards attempts were made by the Russians to undermine the morale of prisoners of war. Herfurth was the camp senior and in contrast to Lieutenant Raier he did not succumb to traitorous dealings. His clean behaviour was an example for some of his comrades. So it came about that in December 1941 the Russians brought sixteen men to the Jelabuga Prison with Herfurth at their head. Some were released again after a short time, but eight of them, including these three, were sentenced to death by a so-called war tribunal that consisted of a lieutenant, a sergeant-major and a sergeant. The prosecution read out the sentences. They waited eighty-seven days in the death cell, expecting every night to be taken out and hanged, but always it was someone else who was taken out. So they slowly languished. They told of the last hours of a robber and murderer who walked up and down the cell like a caged tiger, of the neighbouring cell in which a condemned woman brought a child into the world, and of the time in which they were taken to a normal cell that was full of convicted people of all nationalities. Half of those condemned with them had long since died. One day Lieutenant Vierk was released. They waited in vain as month after month went by. They had almost given up all hopes of release. One day the Minister of the Interior of the Tartar Republic visited the prison and appeared in our condemned men’s cell. By chance he noted that they were German prisoners of war and gave the order to have them removed to the prisoner of war camp. Days of uncertainty followed until they had been brought here today. They could hardly hold back their joy, after such mental stress and uncertainty. Hastily spoken words mixed with Russian poured out of them. We tried to hide the pity that their appearance aroused in us. Van Alst was paralysed up to the hips and could only move forward with difficulty, while the sight of the two others recalled memories of the spotted fever. The details that they recounted of their prison cells were to us Middle Europeans improbable and barely believable.
A few days after our transfer to Kama Camp we had to go to Nunnery Camp for delousing. There, in order to influence the waverers, the rumour had already been spread that Crome, von Below and I were to be brought before a war tribunal in Kasan. Despite the darkness we were recognised in the camp and these Russian lies were refuted. Such lies have really quite short legs!
We had already spent weeks in Kama Camp. German officers were brought here from Susdal and Krasnigorsk. Our company had meanwhile been moved into a smaller room at the opposite end of the corridor and been increased by three: Colonels Reinisch and Kratsch, as well as the Romanian Major Nikolai, were also obstacles to the National Committee and thus had to go into isolation. It was an isolation that we had meanwhile got to know well. For one hour in the morning we could get some fresh air in the yard under the supervision of a Russian guard. The rest of the time we spent in our small room – number 21 – and played chess or dice or chatted. No unauthorised person could approach our room, which lay at the furthest end of the corridor. Next to our room was the lock-up, a dark cell in which officers who tried to escape were locked up.
The Russians had finally given up trying to recruit us for the National Committee. A last interrogation, during which we were informed of the founding of the League of German Officers on the 12th of September 1943, under the leadership of General of Artillery von Seydlitz, had shown them that we could not be persuaded to become traitors, even with the news that Field Marshal Paulus would shortly join the League.
I will never forget one small episode. Our fellow prisoners were taken for questioning, and Crome, von Below and I found ourselves alone in the room. Suddenly the door was unlocked and a Russian captain entered the room. He limped and walked with a stick. His expression clearly displayed hatred for us Germans. He said a few words that I did not understand. I looked at him quietly and firmly. This did not seem to please him as he suddenly raised his stick and made a move as if to hit me on the head. Perhaps he believed that I would react. I showed no reaction. He stopped his stick about five centimetres from my skull. Finally he turned to von Below and hit him with his stick on the red stripe of the General Staff on his trousers. But von Below and Crome also failed to react to this proletarian behaviour. After he had spat at us several times he left the room complaining loudly.
There has been an increase in the numbers accommodated in the neighbouring room. There are far more of them than us, about thirty altogether, of whom Colonel von Hanstein is particularly striking. They too have been isolated for taking up a clear position against the League of German Officers and the National Committee. It is pleasing to see the good mood and behaviour of these comrades.
BLOCK II
13th November 1943. There is a big move today as there are too many isolated persons now. Because of this the Russians have arranged the erection of a whole isolation block: Block II. With about sixty other prisoners of war, we enter the upper room of the block, which is surrounded by barbed wire and separated from the rest of the camp. A gate that is only unlocked when we are taken for our meals ensures that no unauthorised person can get near us.
Until now I had had no experience of Germans denouncing, ridiculing and dishonouring their countrymen, but here I can watch Mangold do all these things in his capacity as block senior, with his watchdogs, Second-Lieutenants Kahlbaum, Richter and Kaiser, as our guards. Their job is to ensure that our connections with the outside world – i.e. the other prisoners of war – are forestalled. Mangold has lost all resp
ect from his old comrades and is a worthy representative of the League of German Officers. As a reward for his good work as block senior of the isolation block, he soon became camp senior and his role as block senior was passed to Major Hartberger, an Austrian who had long been a loyal servant of the Russians.
Before Mangold handed over Block II to the Austrian he provided me with five days in the lock-up through Colonel Nikiforov in response to my reproaching him one morning at roll call for getting at an old gentleman in a nasty way.
We occupied the upper rooms for two days before being assigned to our individual rooms. Room 7 had been set up for the particularly black sheep and right next to it was a little room for Colonels Crome, Wolff and Erler. We were called by name from the individual rooms in which we were lying, and so the room association was formed in which I now felt so well. Along with the room senior, Lieutenant-Colonel Burmann, I shared with Parson Roth, Major Blume, Major Lubbe, Courts-Martial Adviser Mewes, Lieutenant-Colonel von Below and another four gentlemen; we formed a congenial community.
Hardly a day passed in which we did not have a comrade in the lock-up. As it was inside the building, we were able to support our arrestee through the broken pane of glass or the cracks in the door. It was all so well organised that the person under punishment suffered no hardship.
Once, when Colonel von Hanstein was sitting in the lock-up with two others, a man from the kitchen brought food for five persons by mistake: 200 grams of bread each and five pieces of fish. The Russian duty officer, a second-lieutenant, who unlocked the door, told the man to leave all the food there. The Russian himself then took a portion of bread and fish. Minutes later I saw him standing in an empty room greedily gulping both down. When he noticed me he tucked the remains of the fish in his coat pocket.
Every day the arrestees had to look after one room. Even when Mangold had me locked up for five days, everything went like clockwork. Second-Lieutenant Helms, a fighter pilot, accompanied me. Of course, we shared the contributions passed on to us. Helms told me his story. The Russians wanted to persuade him to return to his unit and then fly an ME 109 over to them. In the same building in which he was held prisoner on the Murmansk front there was also a captured German lieutenant from Hamburg, with whom Helms once spoke to briefly. As Helms said, he was a large, handsome man with an upright figure and a straight walk. Later on, he was able to observe him through a keyhole when the lieutenant was taken for interrogation. He could see that he was being mishandled. One day he was lacking an eye. Helms, shortly before he came away, was called for questioning again, and his route took him past the room where the lieutenant was held. From inside came the chatter of a lunatic. Helms had been unable to learn anything more about the lieutenant since then. Had the Russians treated many prisoners of war to make them traitors like this lieutenant, torturing them to death?
What is happening? Lieutenant-Colonel von Below has instructions to pack his things and go to the guardroom. Will he too go for special treatment? When he had packed his things and said farewell to his comrades, I accompanied him to the gate. We looked at each other once more as we shook hands and knew that whatever happened to us we would never be traitors! A last farewell and the gate was shut. A dear old comrade, who during the days of our joint examinations had been very valuable, has gone off into the unknown. When would I see him again?
Christmas is coming and in Room 7 we are mentally preparing ourselves. When Christmas Eve comes we lie on our iron bunks and sing Christmas songs. We begin the day with a chat. Our thoughts are very much back home.
Yesterday and today our comrades who had been in Oranki Camp arrived here. My regimental comrades Schüler and Krell are among them. God be praised! – at least some are still living. So many remained on the road who simply could not take any more.
Yesterday evening, unnoticed in the darkness, I was able to slip out of Room 7 and visit my friend Krell. Full of the horror of it, he told me about the time they had to bury 35,000 men in Beketovka who had died from spotted fever, stomach typhus or undernourishment. But it had been no different in Oranki Camp than in Jelabuga. By far the greatest number of dead there had fallen victim to epidemics. Among the Italians on the transport there were even victims of cannibalism. Krell had thought me dead and was very happy to see me again.
Today my friend Hans-Joachim Schüler slipped into the room. He was our battalion adjutant and we last saw each other almost a year ago. How happy one is to see an old trusted face after such a long time and discover that the person has not changed. I was also able to greet Second-Lieutenant Augst again, whose appearance also remains unchanged.
24th December 1944. The men of Block II sit in their rooms. Their hearts are certainly festive, their thoughts back at home. In simple, brief ways we celebrate the biggest festival of the year far from home, true sons of our people, undisturbed by the dirt of treason that goes on around us. We had succeeded in persuading the Russians to provide a little tree that has been adorned with home-made Christmas decorations. Some of us saved a little from our rations to have at least something for Christmas Eve. I too have put aside 300 grams of bread and sliced it with prayers, as one does at home with Christmas stollen. My thoughts are of home and my loved ones there. How and where are they celebrating Christmas?
1st January 1944. A new year has begun. Will it bring us the longed-for victory? We hope and yearn for it. What the year will also bring is no change in my behaviour and beliefs. In the individual rooms many others likewise use the simple memorial hour to renew their faith.
I spend the long day refreshing my English. Then I write poetry and learn it by heart. I have to smile when I think of the possibilities I previously had for learning and compare them with the means that I now have. But how much more precious are these small home-made booklets in which I copy the poems of Goethe, Schiller, Arndt, Binding and Rilke. No, this time in captivity cannot be for nothing. In overcoming the results of spotted fever with disciplined learning, I must force myself to concentrate.
The former Generals Lattmann and Schlömer, escorted by von Einsiedel and the former Major Hühnermörder, have gathered in the camp for a publicity campaign. We too are obliged to listen to a speech by Lattmann. The Russians are very tense about the effects of this speech. It is only a defensive speech that the traitorous general has for us. An icy silence reigns among us from beginning to end. We form an immovable wall. The two traitor generals are also given the cold shoulder in their attempts to resume personal contacts with old acquaintances.
BLOCK VI
Today is the 13th of February and again there is a move. Two days before my birthday the whole of Block II was moved to Block VI. Now the Russians have achieved what they had already long intended, but had been unable to until now. Block VI is hermetically cut off from the outside world. Every contact with our friends is interrupted. The entrance to Block VI is through a small guardroom in which sits a Russian sentry who does not allow any unauthorised persons into the block. The exercise area set aside for us – now more than 150 men – is the inner yard, which is about twenty metres long and six metres wide. The food is carried in from the kitchen in canisters, which we collect once the porters have left the guardroom.
Our new accommodation is cold during the first days and very unfriendly, as the block had long been standing empty. Some doors and windows are broken or missing, and the wind drives snow into the rooms. After the first night several of us showed positive evidence of frostbite. We turned to self-help. Once the stair railings had been burnt, we turned to the roof timberwork, in accordance with our plan. It had been professionally built, so the roof had not collapsed under the weight of the snow. As a saw we use a straightened barrel hoop. It was just as well that the roof was built in the time of the Tsar with double the expenditure than would be the case today. The wood is divided up equally among the rooms. Had we only had what the Russians gave us for heating, it would have been bitterly cold. We did not ask what tomorrow would bring; it is bitterly cold today
and we do not want to freeze any more than we must.
The days are becoming longer, and now and then the sun comes through. The cranes and jackdaws play over the buildings, their loud cawing announcing the approach of spring. Life in the isolation block has its own stamp to it. From an NCO to an old colonel, who really should be a general, all ranks are represented. There are lawyers and priests, and teachers of all professional groups. Some followed their inclinations and used their time as they liked. The doctors, lawyers and farmers had their own clubs, while others refreshed their knowledge of history or conducted professional language studies. The choir formed the crown and consisted of about forty-five prisoners of war. Great difficulties were encountered with every undertaking and always had to be overcome again and again. It might only be the shortage of writing paper, which was sometimes partly replaced with small slivers of wood or wall tiles, or pencils, which could be made out of lead taken from the so-called executions wall. The latter derived its name from the revolutionary period, when White Guards had been executed here. But where there’s a will, there’s a way.
Next to my historical and language studies, the choir gives me the most pleasure. Even if I cannot sing particularly well, I am still wholeheartedly involved. Under the conducting of our ‘Maestro’, as we called Lieutenant Fromlowitz, our choir leader, we sang the ‘Ave verum’ and other hymns.
20th April 1944. After the morning roll call by the duty officer, we assembled in the right wing of the block. Second-Lieutenant Oberhofer read a poem. Finally the choir sang the ‘Ave verum’. Then the block senior, Colonel Crome, spoke. He said that as soldiers we only knew our fatherland and served it and were no politicians. The national anthem concluded our impressive celebration.