A POW's long walk home
My Long Walk Home
In mid-September 1944, I was POW working in a coal mine in Poland when the Germans decided that the Russian army was getting too close for comfort and closed the mine. In the following January, we were ordered to pack our bags and move out. This was the start of a four-month walk across Europe towards freedom. It was also one of the coldest winters imaginable and temperatures were often well below -20o.
The mine was ten miles from Katowitz. I tried to keep a note of the places we stopped at, although towns and villages were avoided wherever possible. The first place we stayed was at Gleiwitz. At midnight, we heard a lot of horses galloping by on the cobbled streets. It was the German Horse Artillery retreating. Then the guard burst in and ordered us to move out quickly. We could hear small arms fire, as well as field guns, in the distance. We had to get over the River Oder. We went on to Leobnitz, then on to Treppau in Germany. We stopped at Lobenthal and Stomberg, and we crossed the border into Protectorate Slovakia. Eventually, we crossed the River Elbe and went along the Autobahn 4 towards Dresden.
We spent our nights in a POW camp, in a sports pavilion, in a factory and in several farm outbuildings and barns. We were usually packed in like animals, often with no toilets or anywhere to wash. It was bitterly cold and even though I slept with my boots under me, they were frozen in the morning. Most days we walked all day, covering an average of twelve miles, but sometimes we had a rest day. We were joined by other groups and the numbers swelled to over six thousand men, but I eventually lost contact with most of the boys that I set out with from the coal mine. It was a case of every man for himself, with no privacy at all, and morale was very low.
When we first set off I had made myself a small sledge to put a case and rucksack on. It was an accumulation of things collected over five years and, in fact, my home. After fourteen days on the march, I became too weak to pull it and I had to give it up. I felt very sad as I struggled to put a few items into the rucksack on my back. I could not throw away my barbering kit though, as it was a source of income.
The food rations were very limited. I had a little bread in my baggage and I also had a tin of sardines. When I decided to eat these, I put the tin in my trouser pocket all day to thaw, but the oil was still frozen when I ate them. On one farm, I found a rotting swede forgotten by the animals, and at other farms we had some soup. We got small rations of bread and other food on other days, but never enough for a full meal, let alone several days. One mug of thin soup did not build us up for the following day's march. Sometimes the civvies gave us some bread, but they were very little better off than we were.
In the middle of March, one of the doctors obtained a horse. After waiting a few hours, we were given a cupful of meaty soup. I was prepared to eat anything. Then the Red Cross found us and handed out food parcels, which was an improvement. I was also able to do some trading. I got a small income in cigarettes from haircuts and I could trade these for bread. As the weather got a bit warmer, I sold my gloves for some potatoes.
A guard asked if I would cut his hair. What could I say? He was like the rest of us, except that he had a gun. When I had finished, he gave me a piece of bacon fat the size of my fist. The guards walking with us were also having a hard time. They were doing guard duty at night on very little food too, as well as losing the war. I remember one of them shot himself after sharing out the rations between his mates.
Whilst I was down in the mine, I had had trouble with my knee. At one overnight stop, I twisted it coming down from a narrow loft, but now there wasn't any medical help and I couldn't strap it up. It became very swollen and I managed to find a stick. Eventually it was arranged that I should travel on the guards' wagon. Later, I got an abscess under my toenail and developed blood poisoning, which I could see spreading up my leg. Just in the nick of time I was able to find a doctor who lanced it, and that gave me relief immediately.
We finally made it to Weiden, where we were crowded into coal trucks and taken to Regensburg. We had moved into a bombing area and working parties were sent to clear up the debris after the bombing the railway marshalling yard. We painted POW in big white letters on the roof of the barn where we were staying. A spitfire flew low over us and dipped his wing. That gave us a lot of hope!
One Monday, those of us who were unable to walk or were ill were put in the charge of a guard who walked us to a small hut, then he went off for a walk, a long walk! Our days of slavery were over. We contacted the US Army, were given some food, and I had my foot dressed. Then I got a lift in a US Army lorry to Nuremberg and from there I was taken to Luxembourg and given transport in a Wellington bomber back to England on May 4th 1945.
Shared by Amelia and Louis Schafer, his great-grandchildren
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