by Albert Holl
‘We only take orders from our block senior!’
‘Where is Colonel Wolff?’
‘Let him out!’ So it went on, with the angry crowd of men shouting down the duty officer to get at the commandant. The duty officer left the block and made his report. But even the appearance of the ‘Guards bully’ or ‘Guards proletarian’, as we called him, did not alter the situation. Each of the block inhabitants newly tasked with taking charge of the block rejected it. ‘I cannot keep order properly in the block and I do not want Colonel Wolff to be locked up when he is innocent!’ came the responses. The Russians left the block swearing, and that evening Colonel Wolff reappeared, to be greeted with great delight. He was re-established as our block senior with all honours by the Guards lieutenant-colonel. A written agreement had been made over the reciprocal duties and rights of the senior officers on both sides. They even invited him to a conciliatory meal consisting of roast potatoes with cutlets and vodka. The only camp cutlery – a knife and spoon – was brought for him. He declined with thanks, but could not help drinking a slug of vodka, as otherwise the whole contract would have been under threat. Finally he watched as Kravierz and Kudriatschov attacked the cutlets and potatoes. As true sons of their country, they used their hands extensively as ‘cultural implements’. Colonel Wolff became doubtful whether the Darwin Theory was based on the truth.
Despite the loss of our home-made saw, which we had nicknamed Laura, we were not discouraged from making another one. The frost was strong and we did not want to freeze.
THE DISPUTE IN THE CHURCH
8th December 1944. It is evening, 20.00 hours. Our water soup was consumed two hours ago. It has no lasting effect. With a lot of care we have removed a thick plank from the coach house that immediately borders the sickbay and lies very close to the guardroom. Almost all the prisoners in Room 10 were involved, as a check could have taken place at any minute.
Now the plank lies in our room. The light is off, as it so often is, and the room, like the whole camp, lies in complete darkness. We have already sawn off two blocks and the third is half done. The room is full of sawdust. The ready pieces are already firmly nailed under the beds, as they must not be found. Early tomorrow morning we must heat up the stove so that no smoke is seen in daylight. Not all the rooms can be heated with the paltry amount of wood the Russians bring us every day for the whole block. Apart from that, the wood delivered is also wet. Now, with our careful planning, we can survive a third winter without having to freeze. It is just as well that Ivan has not yet discovered our wood depot.
Suddenly one of our sentries bursts into the room: ‘Hide the wood quickly, the Guards bully is on the way!’ He is quite out of breath. We react like lightning. One grabs the saw and hides it; two others conceal the sawn-off pieces; a third scatters the sawdust a bit.
I have grabbed the remains of the plank and put it in a corner. It is now about two metres long. A long driving coat gives it rough cover. This is hardly done when four figures come into the room. I cannot understand what they are saying. Kudriatschov strides forward, lighting the floor with a long pocket torch. He appears not to hear a loudly called ‘Achtung!’ Without concerning themselves with us, they go into the adjacent Room 11, then turn round and leave the room the way they came. That went well! But they have not yet left the block so we have to get the pieces and the plank out of the room immediately. Where? The toilet! We quickly carry the plank to the required destination. I sit down in there so that no one would think of looking in. Should someone come in, I can always call out ‘Occupied!’ There is noise on the stairs again. The Russians are coming back. They quickly run into the rooms, and drag some wood out of the staff officers’ room. I leave the toilet and go to see what the situation is. The wood has been found as a result of some suspicious signs drawing their attention. If only the Russians had turned round again and looked for wood in other rooms! Meanwhile all traces have been disposed of. One certainly needs luck!
Today is Saturday, the 9th December. We parade outside for counting. It is a damned cold day. The cold has been persisting for days. I guess it is 30 to 35 degrees below zero. Immediately after the head count comes breakfast, and after that we have a last rehearsal for tomorrow’s Advent celebrations with our double quartet. The prelude has already been given, last Sunday, on the first day of Advent. We had an appreciative audience. We wanted to polish our performance and the crown will be the celebration on Christmas Eve.
Why is the duty officer so late? If we have to wait for much longer we will go away, not wanting to freeze. Ah, here comes a second-lieutenant, who looks to be either Kazach or Usbech judging from his appearance. He is relatively large, with black hair and equally dark unfathomable eyes. Colonel Wolff reports the strength. Once the Russian is convinced that the whole block is on parade in the yard, he pulls out a whistle and blows hard into it. Immediately the wooden door opens and six soldiers burst into the yard, occupying the entrances to the block like lightning. None of us is allowed back into the block, and we are told that a general search is taking place.
This is a right mess! Now we have to stand out in the cold until these sub-humans have rummaged through everything. Our anger becomes even greater, but we can do nothing about it.
Then the names are read out of those who have to pack their things and go to the guardroom. In our room the Russians have already made a thorough search and turned everything inside out. With our teeth gritted, we pack our few things together. There is another check before the guardroom and we can hear that a precise and thorough search is taking place there. The emigrant Knippschild is supervising it.
Now we too are inside. I go straight to the soldier on duty and open my bread bag. He looks at the things inside and retains all the written notes. But I am able to smuggle my photographs through, as well as my small knife, which I had concealed in my water bottle. A little water that is always kept in the bottle sees to it that shaking the bottle will not reveal the knife. Outside, in front of the guardroom, stands a guard waiting for us. He leads us through the camp which until now I had not entered without an escort. We are greeted by acquaintances from some distance away. They had been chased away by members of the League of German Officers.
We go past Block 1 towards the middle one of the three churches that lie directly behind the east side of the camp and are separated from the camp by a barbed wire fence. A small gate leads the way in. Now it is becoming clear to me that we are being taken inside the church. At the beginning of the cold period the church had been the quarantine quarters of some officer prisoners of war who had been captured by the Romanians. Right at the entrance to the church my attention is caught by two frescos that have been whitewashed, but without completely obscuring the colours. An attempt had apparently been made to protect the Virgin Mary, her eyes having been dug out. Sprayed chalk on the head showed that the cover had been applied by hand.
We were led into the church itself through a long passageway. Most of our comrades who had been taken out of the block ahead of us were already here. Some, however, were now in the administrative building for special investigation. Finally they also came to join us. Hindenlang recounted what happened to him while he was being interrogated by Major Kravietz, the head of the NKVD operational detachment, who, because of his steel teeth, we call ‘Silvermine’.
A copy of Mein Kampf had been found in our block and Kravietz wanted to know whose it was. Naturally Hindenlang said that he had no idea that such a book existed among us. In fact, Hindenlang had it himself. It was strapped to the inside of his thigh. We burst out laughing at this trick.
It is terribly cold inside the church, almost as cold as outside. We stand together in the big church, our breath freezing in the air. We are wearing every item of our clothing but it hardly keeps us warm. There is only one old oil stove in the whole room, and several comrades are trying to warm themselves a little around it. Now and again one of the last emigrants appears and by evening we are all together. Little is said.
The events of the day have to be thought through. The orderly officer appears again and looks at the group. He seems to be happy and soon vanishes again.
With my two room comrades, Staff Surgeon Dr Weber and Captain von Wenczowski, I settle down on the tiled floor. We appear to be lying in the middle of the church. Our exhausted and weakened bodies want to rest, but we cannot do this because it is so cold here. Even if several stoves were set up, one would only get a moderate warmth. And who would deliver the necessary fuel for a number of stoves?
All kinds of thoughts go through my head. I think about the Guards lieutenant-colonel’s threat a year ago to destroy my physical and emotional strength. Will this slowly but surely prepare us for the ‘cold journey’? It seems so to me. But then … No way will I allow these brutes to triumph! But what can I do? There is only one thing: hunger strike! I am determined to take this step even if I do it alone. However, I am convinced that others will think the same. The time passes between freezing and dark brooding. It seems usual for these unpleasant experiences to appear twice as long as they truly are.
And so the night passes leading to the second day of Advent 1944. My two neighbours, Dr Weber and von Wenczowski, have also found no rest. As we exchange the first words between us, we are agreed. We must get the whole of Block VI determined to start a hunger strike, but it must be so organised that our block senior is not involved and in no way can be liable. I have long been on my feet and trying to warm my body by walking to and fro. Padre Roth has also been on his feet for a long time. I speak to him:
‘Now, Minister, how do you see the story here?’
‘Yes, you know, Holl, it seems as if we are going to spend the winter here.’
‘That is what it looks like to me, too. But I have no desire to let myself be prepared for that “cold journey”.’
‘And what are you thinking of doing?’ He looks at me quietly and thoughtfully, as is his way. ‘I will start a hunger strike!’
‘Have you thought it over and do you believe that all the comrades will join you?’ Again he looks at me with his clear eyes.
‘Naturally, Padre, we have had the whole night to think about it. I do not think that anyone will not take part if it is properly approached.’
‘That means, though, if it is a hunger strike, it is everyone!’
‘Yes, Padre, but rather an end with horror than horror without end!’
Dr Weber and von Wenczowski were standing with some comrades. They too are agreed that our plan would go ahead without a fuss. We must get out of the church and go back to our old block!
Our rations distributor, Captain Krause, has already been instructed. He will first call Room 1, whose senior is Lieutenant Sochatzi, also known as ‘Prince’. The comrades of Room 1 have shown decisive action against the Russians and are immediately ready to try to force a clear reaction from the Russians by means of a hunger strike. The other rooms follow in turn after the call for collecting food.
The old barrel with the morning soup and half of our daily bread ration are brought in. Krause goes with both his assistants to the barrel and calls Room 1 to get their food. No one gets up from the room or makes a move. After Krause has called three times, he calls the next room. The same scene. In the subsequent rooms no one makes a move to get the food, so that the whole block (192 men) refuse the food.
Towards 9 o’clock Schuck, the duty officer, whose name in German means beetle, summons the morning roll call. Nobody gets up. Colonel Wolff tells him that the prisoners of war will not comply with his orders any more and that we had also refused the morning meal. Schuck opens his eyes wide and begins to swear quietly. However, realising that the matter is serious, he disappears.
He comes back again in half an hour, accompanied by Inspector Brijanzev, who asks us not to do something so nonsensical and just accept the food. He says he will see to it that we get wood for heating. No one reacts to his promises, we have all had enough sad experiences not to believe the promises of a Russian any more.
Both men see that their endeavours are in vain and disappear once more. We have all lain down on the stone floor and covered ourselves with the blankets and coats available. Nevertheless it is bitterly cold.
At about 12 o’clock the word came: ‘The Guards bully is coming!’ Nobody pays any attention when he enters the church, escorted by his staff. Even the camp elder, Mangold, and several other traitors such as the former Colonel Hermann, and another two whose names I do not know, are brought to persuade us to be reasonable. Colonel Wolff makes a report. Kudriatschov asks why the prisoners of war have not stood up. Wolff replies that they are not responding to his orders any more. Now the Russians try to get us to stand up. But as soon as the Russians get one man up and turn to the next man, the first lies down again.
After a long time, however, they are able to drive the majority of us into the centre of the church, where Kudriatschov makes a speech. He is an old fox and tries with threats and orders to make us eat. But when he sees that this is unsuccessful he tries another means. Mangold, the pioneer Captain Germer – a teacher from the Saarland who had been captured on the Romanian front a few weeks previously – and the other traitors must now talk to us on his orders. They too make promises to us, all without result. They are fighting against an icy wall of rejection. Our demand is simple: we will only take food upon our immediate release from the church!
I look at the traitors with contempt. There stands, for instance, Hermann, who was once called colonel. He has set himself against his comrades who are still fighting and his people, but is unashamed of wearing Third Reich decorations. Here he stands wearing his Knight’s Cross. It is simply shameful for us!
Lieutenant Nowak, a son of Königsberg city, now steps forward and asks permission to speak. You can tell he is a lawyer as his quiet, well thought-out sentences are spoken clearly to the Guards lieutenant-colonel. ‘Trusting in Stalin’s order No. 55 of the 15th February 1943, I became a prisoner in Stalingrad. The order said that all prisoners of war would receive dignified treatment and be returned to their homeland six months after the end of the war.’ He waited after every sentence until the interpreter had translated. ‘The treatment that I am now experiencing here stands exactly in contradiction to this order. I have fought as a soldier and also demand that I be treated as one. If I am to be destroyed, then I should be granted a respectable death such as I have earned as a soldier. It is unfair to try to liquidate us here in this way and manner! I know that I am not the only one who thinks this way and I am convinced that many of my comrades here are of the same opinion.’
I threw back the blanket that had been covering me and advanced a few steps to support the last words of Lieutenant-Colonel Nowak. I now stood in the middle of the half circle and waited there for Nowak to finish his speech, firmly willing the ‘Guards Bully’ to recall the words he had said about physical and emotional destruction. My eyes were firmly fixed upon him. With my lips pressed tightly together, without distorting my face, I looked only at him. As he felt my staring gaze directed at him, he became uneasy and, trying to evade me, he stepped to one side. A right turn on my part brought him back into my view. His deputy, Captain Grusev, noticed that Kudriatschov was finding this unpleasant and tried to pull me back into the ranks, but I did not move from the spot.
When Nowak had finished, the Guards lieutenant-colonel told him that he did not want people to commit suicide, and that we all must eat, as Germany would need us again later. This came from the mouth of this man with scorn. Then he turned quickly to go. He knew that I intended to confront him and wanted to avoid being snubbed openly, as had already twice been the case. As Kudriatschov was leaving, Grusev asked me my name. ‘The Guards lieutenant-colonel already knows me!’ I said loudly, as Kudriatschov hastened away.
The situation had come to an extreme head. The camp commandant had withdrawn without success. The lunch was also not accepted. For some time it had stood outside the church and was not taken away. No unauthorised person dared come ne
ar us and we dared not stand outside. When some comrades did not immediately comply with a sentry’s order to go into the church, he opened fire into the wall over the men’s heads.
The emigrant Knippschild now had some beds brought into the church by reliable men of the Anti-fascists on the orders of the Guards lieutenant-colonel. He asked where they should be erected but got no answer. So these beds were dumped anywhere.
Late afternoon has come and still the Russians do not let us hear anything from them. We must be patient. We are 192 men and Moscow knows all about us. Famous officers with the highest decorations can be found among us. Tomorrow at the latest the commandant must report this incident to Moscow and a commission will result. Whether Kudriatschov will let it happen? Wait and see!
As nothing extraordinary is happening, our ‘Maestro’ Fromlowitch gathers together his double quartet for the planned Advent presentation. We still do not know what the next days will bring, but we want to make a stand for our beloved country. Eight of us singers stand in the middle of the church. I am the second tenor. All is quiet. We raise our voices with a quiet childlike simplicity. The tones are as if breathed, yet one can hear them crystal clear even in the far corners of the room. ‘Lightly flutters down the snow, still and glassy rests the sea’ we sing to the quiet audience. One can see from their faces that in spirit they are far away. Old bearded men and youngsters alike see themselves again as children in their parents’ home at Christmas time or as parents singing with their children in the glow of the Advent candles. The fateful state of our camp gives this Advent celebration a special quality. There is not a word spoken, and one could have heard a pin drop in this large church. And then came our second song: ‘A star stood over the woods that had a bright shine; the Christ child is coming soon into our village. The snow lies on the fields, the wind whistles behind the fence, the deer in the woods all look up at the star.’ As it dies away comes the last song, ‘Night of clear stars that stand like a wide bridge.’ Yes, that is our bridge to our home so far away, to our mothers, who worry about us and are full of uncertainty as to whether we are still alive.