by Albert Holl
Another bit of news troubles us. Ludwig Zubeck from Gleiwitz is not on the list of those going home. Already this morning they wanted to chase him out to work. He is forty-two years old and ailing. He sat on his bunk and quickly falls apart under the weight of this hard fate. The best and most well-meaning words fail to comfort him. I do not understand the harsh decision. Zubeck was punished under the same paragraph as us and was given only five years’ banishment, of which he has already done half. The responsible office in the camp insist that he is not on the list. A telephone call to the detachment is also unsuccessful. An old acquaintance, who has always been very friendly towards us, says that Zubeck is not a German but a Pole. I do not believe it and ask Ludwig whether during his imprisonment he has been indiscreet. He declares to me that he has never done anything wrong. I promise him that I will take his case to the main administration of the ‘Angerlag’ if I have the chance.
On the 19th of February we twenty-six ‘home-comers’ drive off in two trucks towards Sajarsk. Shortly before our departure the accountant appears and pays us the balance of our accounts. I received 14 roubles, Korff and Mütschele something over 80 roubles, as they had worked as locksmiths in the repair workshops. We leave Ludwig a small sum for tobacco. Back in the barracks crying eyes watched us drive away.
The trucks travel quickly to Sajarsk in the winter sunshine. At the woodland edge we pass the 204th Column’s hospital, and as we drive past we salute with bare hands our dead friends, whose wooden crosses sticking out of the snow bear their names and numbers.
It all seems like a dream. Ten months ago we drove along this road in the opposite direction, uncertain of our future. Now we can entertain hopes about our journey home, although with the bitter aftertaste that two of our best men will lie here for ever.
To our great pleasure we are met at the gate of the Sajarsk Transit Camp by Kurt App. Artur Sauer, who shared a cell with us in Saporoschje, is also there. Kurt straightaway warns us of the bandits in the transit camp as we are searched at the camp gate. ‘If you have money on you, then conceal it well! They have already taken everything from me. I was completely helpless against them!’ The reunion with him is very hearty. We have been apart since Charkov. He tells us that the Hungarian horseman Tschermak, who had represented Hungary at the 1936 Olympiad in Berlin and had sat in a cell with us in Saporoschje, still remains in the 4th Detachment. Kurt is also saddened to learn of the deaths of our two friends.
We now go to our allocated accommodation: a dark barrack full of people. We are immediately surrounded by a swarm of young bandits who want to search us. Warned by Kurt, we press close together and go back to the door. The bandits try to stop us, but they are unable to do so. Oskar is already outside. A young lad blocks my way to the door but I push him aside and he runs off. As I am going through the door, Oskar calls out a warning. I turn around and see the bandit coming at me with a drawn knife. But I am already in sight of the sentry standing on the watchtower, so he vanishes again back into the darkness of the barrack.
Emile Holler, one of the homeward bound, who has already lived in the camp for a long time, finds us better accommodation in a building that had previously served as a workshop. We will only be here for two or three days, so we can be content with our temporary accommodation. The main thing is that we are among Germans and not bothered by the bandits.
All day men going home are brought here from the various camps of the ‘Angarlag’. There are some men who have become so acclimatised to the conditions that they have lost all sense of property and can no longer distinguish between ‘mine’ and ‘yours’. They will find it very difficult when they get back to a normal life. I even think it possible that some of them will find themselves in a German prison sooner or later, although previously they were upright and honest men. The years of imprisonment and constant hunger have forced them to sink to this. They can think only of themselves. God be thanked, most of us are still sensible and normal people.
I learn from a Berliner who was in a prison of war camp with Zubeck that Ludwig had tried to be repatriated to Upper Silesia during the repatriation of the Poles in 1946. However, the Russians had not recognised him as Polish. Now everything was clear to me. In truth Zubeck was not a Pole but a German citizen, but in 1946 he had claimed to be a Pole and therefore could not go home as a German. Truly this was a boomerang that had returned with the worst consequences. I have no chance of speaking to Zubeck to explain.
Our accommodation is without a stove and thus very cold. We will get an electric one.
Just as I had always taken an interest in our old 205th Column, so I concern myself here too in pursuit of my friends’ requests. I return late in the evening from my unsuccessful search for a stove, which was as urgently necessary as the lighting. My friends then tell me that, despite the guards outside, we have been visited by the bandits. Quite unexpectedly they had suddenly appeared in the room, each armed with a knife. One of them blocked the exit. Carrying an oil lamp, they had gone straight to those who had money. Resistance was pointless as we had no weapons. Siegfried refused them, but when he felt a knife, despite the thickness of his clothing, he gave his money away.
It was obvious to us that the few roubles we had were not worth someone being stabbed. We learned from this experience that these creatures were capable of anything and would murder a man without hesitation. Indeed, Kurt App had survived a serious incident in his camp which left several men dead. These bandits had even taken our food from us. I was very angry but could see that resistance was really pointless. There were more than seventy of us in the room, but we did not know each other. No one trusted the others, and anyway most of us were physically very weak.
The night passed very slowly, and we got up early in the morning to get the blood flowing again and warm our stiff muscles. The day passed with measuring for clothing that would be provided that night or in the morning.
We then discovered that the bandits were planning to pay us another visit in the coming night. I went to see the camp commandant, a captain, and told him what had happened. I added that we were not prepared to hold back from the robbers, and any Russian prisoners who entered our room in the dark would be beaten up. The camp commandant promised to provide a guard on our accommodation.
To our delight we were issued with our new clothing that night. Next morning we were ordered to march out to another place. Two men who were apparently Volksdeutsche, one of them a policeman, were not issued with the clothing and, like the four Hungarians, had to remain behind.
The station is 4 kilometres from the camp. The route is very icy and for some of our men who are still sick it was quite a strenuous journey because of the freezing conditions. The guard is very strong. Even a guard dog accompanied us and it does not look like we are going home. At last we reach the station and see the Pullmann coach in which we will be travelling.
When the train conductor sees our guards he asks what this means, as we are going home and are free men. He has the escorts immediately return to camp.
It is an unusual feeling for me, after more than seven years, to be without a guard again. Happily I discover the joy of not having a machine-pistol aimed at my back. In the Pullmann coach assigned to returning prisoners, we were taken from Sajarsk via Bratsk to Taishet. The journey takes two days, and our conductor allows us full freedom of movement and does not treat us as prisoners.
At Taishet transit camp we are treated very kindly by the commandant. It is as if they want us to forget all the bitterness and awfulness of the previous years. We have to wait three days here.
In the women’s part of the transit camp I meet a German woman from Riga, who had moved from Latvia to Berlin soon after the 1945 Polish campaign. She is about forty-five years old and was sentenced by the Russians in 1947 and brought here because her place of birth was in Latvia. A Czech who had been taken from Czechoslovakia tells me that he had been in a camp with Generals Sixt von Armin and Heinrici, both of whom were given twenty-five years�
� forced labour sentences. He further reports that along the Taishet–Bratsk line there is a row of prison camps in which there are more than fifty sentenced German generals. This confirms the observations that we had made on the journey from Taishet to Bratsk in April 1949, when we had ourselves seen two camps whose occupants were wearing Waffen-SS uniforms. I also have the opportunity of speaking with a twenty-year-old Spaniard who had been brought to Russia during the Spanish Civil War of 1938 and has no possibility now of returning to his homeland. The Soviet Union is holding him against his will and he is not particularly happy with the current system.
New comrades join us. Again there is a general checking of clothing and old items are exchanged. We are deloused on the 25th of February. The camp doctor wants our hair to be cut. He says it is the rule, but some refuse. I allow this last cut in the secret hope that it will ensure our return home. I am not going to fall out with the authorities now through resisting or other reasons!
As we march through the camp, the commandant asks us to sing a German marching song in thanks for our forthcoming release. Happily we fulfilled this request, now really feeling that we were going home. But here also two comrades are struck from the list by some authority or other and have to remain behind.
We take seats on the Taischet–Krasnojarsk train. Our escorts – a second-lieutenant and his assistant, a Red Army soldier – are very friendly and we hardly feel that we are still prisoners of war when we travel in a normal passenger train. As far as Krasnojarsk the journey goes smoothly. By ten o’clock in the morning we are already alongside the station. The next train towards Mariinsk goes that evening. Today is Sunday. Our escorting officer leaves us with his assistant at the station while he goes off to the Kommandatura to obtain a further travel permit. He returns late in the evening without success, as all the offices are closed on Sundays. We now have to wait until the following evening, as without the Kommandatura’s permission we cannot travel.
Our group, which was twenty-six men strong in the 205th Column, has now already increased to 105 men, who all come from the area west of Lake Baikal. I have trouble keeping them together and the Red Army soldier keeps coming to ask if we are all there. This is not the case, because several disappeared hours ago. However, I calm him down as I do not accept that anyone would miss the train through carelessness. I myself do not take the risk of being arrested by a militiaman. Instead I remain with the crowd and do not go far from the train.
That evening I can confirm that a whole number of men have sold some of the items of clothing that were almost completely new. They have given up old clothing and obtained money in exchange. But a lot have simply sold dispensable items as a form of insurance. For the first time in years they were in a position to be able to purchase things in the station hall that many of us have only dreamed of for many years. Here again I did not allow myself to take part in such experiments, as I did not know whether something serious was about to happen. But as always, Russia is the land of ‘boundless impossibilities’.
Next day the dealings are eagerly pursued. That evening we travel on, arriving in Mariinsk at midday. A large number of men who received new items of clothing in Taishet have foolishly sold them. Now comes the result: a report has been written about it and we do not know what the consequences might be. The sellers are of the opinion that Moscow had given the orders for our transport home and nothing will happen. I hope they are not wrong!
IS THIS REALLY THE JOURNEY HOME?
The camp in Mariinsk is a transit camp like the previous two. More than two hundred prisoners of war have already been here for several days, brought here from all parts of Siberia, from Karaganga, from Vladivostock, from the territory west and east of Lake Baikal, even from the gold mines on the lower reaches of the Jenissei, and from the high north. My surprise is great when I meet the former Flak Lieutenant Heinicke, whom I knew from Jelabuga Camp. It is even greater when Heinicke tells me that my old comrade from Block VI at Jelabuga, Captain Fritz Schmeizer, is also here. I immediately make my way to him and we fall into each other’s arms with delight.
Fritz tells me that in 1948 he was sentenced to ten years’ hard labour for industrial sabotage in accordance with Paragraph 47, although he had declared himself a keen Anti-fascist.
The long-established Russians in the transit camp are ordered to give up their barracks for us and move into the earthen barracks. Mattresses, pillows and blankets are issued to us. We did not really want them but the camp commandant says that we will have to wait here for several more days, as more home-goers are expected to arrive. ‘Several more days’ turns into four long weeks and our patience is tested. Rumours about our eventual transport onwards come thick and thin, but there is nothing definite yet.
A heavy depression curbs our optimism when twenty-six men waiting for the transport are moved to another camp. With heavy hearts and their hopes dashed, they say goodbye to us. They are men who were either in the police or were sentenced under Paragraphs 58 or 54. The NKVD Operational Detachment stands like a frightening ghost in the background and we none of us know whether we will be called to the guardroom at any moment.
We pass away the time with home-made card games that have never seemed as slow or snail-like as now. Some countrymen of ours who have lived here for years, making their own living, join us. They have all kinds of things to report about what occurred here. They encountered civilians from the Soviet Zone of Germany who were brought here in 1947/8. There is, for example, a district judge whose chief after the capitulation had been a concentration camp inmate for fourteen years. The judge ended up in Siberia.
With the last women’s transport to arrive in the camp were two German women. One was a 20-year-old from Koenigsberg who had been a hair dresser, the other a 26-year-old Berliner. It is interesting to see how the years of banishment in Siberia have affected these women.
The journey home now seems to be certain. We have been dressed since this morning, but things are now going slowly. The reading of the home-going list takes a long time as the number has now increased to 909. But twenty men still remain behind as their names are not on the list and their cases have to be checked by the lawyer responsible, a justice colonel. After a last thorough search, in which all our old clothing has to be given up and we are given in return cheap, factory-made items, comes another endless night. Except for my unmarked photographs and the purse with the receipt for my wedding ring, which was taken from me on the 12th of March 1940 in Charkov Prison, the controlling officer takes everything away. Any pictures in which German Wehrmacht uniforms can be seen are taken from me. It is curious about the receipt for my wedding ring. None of the officers to whom I have mentioned it until now will acknowledge any responsibility. Now I must ask at the last Russian station at Brest-Litovsk. Siegfried has not had his receipt for a long time now, and Ottel’s receipt too has gone which he took with him to hospital. I am curious as to what they will say in Brest-Litovsk. In any case I must try to bring the receipt back to Germany if I do not get the wedding ring back.
THE BIG LEAP!
And finally the time has come! Under the charge of a Russian lieutenant, our train, consisting of thirty-eight wagons, including the administrative wagon, sets off. It is 04.30 hours on the morning of the 12th of April 1950. On the 10th April – the first day of Easter – we spent all day being fitted out with clothing, and loading began on the 11th.
We have now been rolling in a westerly direction for hours already. It is an indescribably happy feeling, although there is still mistrust concealed in our hearts. Three of the twenty who were held back have made it, the others having to look on with heavy hearts as we marched to the station. One final man joined us on the way, having just passed through his camp’s controls. We now amount to 913 home-goers.
The transport commander’s adjutant, a young second-lieutenant, wants to appoint me as the German transport commander and thus put all the responsibility on me. Using all kinds of excuses I get away from him and for several days a
void seeing him at the stopping points so as not to get involved in any duty. I have no intention of going home as a transport commander after having been a working animal for years and perhaps being filmed in Moscow. I want nothing further to do with these people!
For days we travel through Russia’s unending wastes. At Novo-Sibirsk station we stop quite close to a bridge under which we were unloaded a year ago for delousing. We travel on through the Urals on a local line, stopping exactly where we stopped in March 1943, half-starving, with the remnants of the two thousand men who had been loaded on at Beketovka, on the last stage of the journey to our first permanent camp at Jelabuga. Then we pass the two camps of Seloni–Dolsk, before crossing the bridge over the Volga. We are now heading directly to Moscow, but the track is partly iced over, so that we have a long delay.
In Moscow we go from the eastern part of the city on the bypass track to the western part, From the centre, the five-pointed star of the Kremlin Tower is visible. Nearby stands the steel framework of an incomplete tall building. We were deloused at a station near a prison. I am surprised at this good and smooth operation, with the cleanliness of the facilities such as I had not as yet encountered, and which reminded me of the German baths. However, there were only showers available.