Milag Nord Prisoner of War
Camp
Reginald
Urwin's Story
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The following story by Reginald Urwin
is published here thanks to the North Russian Convoy
Club of New Zealand. (The original was published
in their newsletter nos. 33/34 of 1994. Thanks as well to
John G. Middleton who saw Tommy’s log
and sent us the article. Reg was a prisoner at Milag und Marlag
Nord from early 1943. His ship was sunk November 1942 on its
way to Russia. He was one of three survivors picked up by
the U-boat that sunk them.
I have retyped it here and slightly
edited it, so any mistakes are mine. I’ve broken the
story into short sections and have provided links to each
one. Reg's story was also told in "Five Shillings
a Day" by Richard Campbell Begg and Peter H.
Liddle. Dr. Liddle was kind enough to send me his version
of Reg's story which is very similar to this one. Dr. Liddle
is the Director of the Second
World War Experience Centre in the UK. The Centre's
website contains many interesting stories.
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1 .Empire
Gilbert
2. U-586
3. Norway
4. On to Germany
5. Milag
6. Life at Milag |
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7. The Farm Kommando
8. Bomber Raids
9. Escape
10.On the Run
11.Caught
12.Freedom |
Reg Urwin from
"Five Shillings a Day"
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Empire
Gilbert
It wasn’t a very big ship, the Empire
Gilbert, about 7,500 tons. When I first saw
her at Tyne Dock, they were still loading cargo. They were
maneuvering a Valentine Tank over number 3 hatch and about
to lower trucks, AA guns and ammunition of different calibers.
I understood that all other holds were loaded in the same
fashion, with C.K.D. planes stowed in the ‘tween decks,
along with drums and cases of Aviation Fuel and oil. Every
spare corner was then packed with cases of food, medical supplies
and clothing.
| When that was all clewed up, they then proceeded to
load cases and drums on deck, which also contained planes,
spares and yet more fuel. One of the last things they
did was to fit and weld Lewis Gun mounts, 3 aside, from
the bridge to the Bofors mounted Port and Starboard on
the boat deck. Now some of us had just completed a Gunnery
Course, and there was much speculation about our destination.
About that time, (the middle of October ’42), there
was a big operation building. (Black Velvet I think, was
the code name.) North Africa. We didn’t even mention
Russia, didn’t want to. We thought we were off to
the Med., we were dreaming of course. |
We set sail on about the 20th Oct. “42,
(with not a lot of freeboard), once out of the Tyne we turned
to Port and that was the dead give away, although we still
had the optimists who reckoned there was a big convoy building
round the West of Scotland at Loch Ewe. Bets were duly placed
and we all went about our business until we finally arrived
at Methil. We waited around there for a few late arrivals
to join us, then we headed off, North, North, ever North.
I didn’t collect on my bet. The escorts took us up to
Reykjavik, the weather was only what you could expect up there,
as well as the odd sub scare, we were only a few hours from
Reykjavik when we heard the most awful grinding noises coming
(we thought), from about No 2 hatch, it was a black as the
proverbial and we couldn’t see a thing, someone said
“Growlers”, but one of the older hands said we
were too far South for them yet. By this time, everyone was
into heavy weather and survival gear and the conjecture was
that we were going to have to try and get below somehow to
check the cargo. We signaled the nearest escort to tell him
of our plight and our intentions, but we were advised to reduce
speed slightly and attend to it in port. We complied thankfully.
When we were able to get below, we found that
one of the Tanks had slewed and was grinding up against its
neighbour. We were able to re-arrange things and secure everything
again. We were d-----d glad to get back topside and get into
our warm gear again, I can tell you! On the second day in,
all the Captains were called ashore to a conference and when
they came back aboard we ere all asked to meet in the saloon
to be told the outcome. Our Captain then explained to us that
we would proceed to Russia, either Murmansk or Arkhanglesk,
if we could get up that far, but without escort. We were advised
that it was to be a voluntary run, so we were given a while
to decide on it.
Now, we had on board several crewmen whose
job it was to go to Russia, and help man some under-crewed
ships to bring back to the U.K. After some discussion, it
was decided that they should go ashore as it was thought the
risk outweighed the gain under the circumstances. Once we
had everything worked out to our satisfaction, the Captain
told us that he had been advised that there would be Rescue
trawlers stationed long the route, but that the risks would
be great. He never held anything back and was very highly
thought of by all hands. There were 13 ships involved in the
enterprise and the scheme was to sail at staggered times with
up to 12 hours between departures.
We were the third ship to get away. I think.
And on the 28th Oct. we pounded our way out of Reykjavik into
the coldest and foulest weather I have ever encountered before
or since. There were one or two false alarms, as we thought,
so we were all keeping our eyes skinned for the trawlers,
but the only ones we saw were Icelandic ones about 6hrs out
from port. All hands were on their toes, even the watch below.
We had more eyes down and looking than you would see in a
bingo hall. I would say there were more than a few “Benzedrine
tablets consumed, it wasn’t going to be our fault if
we didn’t get there. No one was tired, it was a sleepless
ship with loads of hot ky going the rounds all the time. I
don’t know if it was the bennies or the hot ky, but
there seemed to be a sense of well-being abroad, almost as
if “Well, the die is cast, let’s get on with it”.
Almost a fatalistic attitude I thought. It was exactly 2200hrs
(my oppo had just come back on) when the next alarm came from
the port wing lookout. “Submarine off the port beam!”
Hell, that’s my side, where is it? And there, in the
darkness I could see the even darker shape of a conning tower,
about 300 ft away and twin torpedo tracks heading, it seemed,
straight for me! Before I could even gulp, there were two
massive explosions, forward and amidships. They wouldn’t
have had a show in the engine room. I don’t remember
much until I found myself at the foot of the starboard lifeboat
davit, completely unhurt apart from a loud ringing in my ears.
(Its been with me ever since.) I got to my feet and tried
to clear the boat falls, they were frozen solid, so I tried
to cut them with my knife. I was still hacking away as the
ship sank beneath me. Luckily the weather had improved over
the last few hours, and it was not so rough.
The sudden silence after it all was
the worst part, trying to come to terms with what had happened,
apart from the odd shout here and there, you would think that
we had never been. After a short while, someone started singing
the last all clear, some of us joined in. I had, by this time,
discarded my duffel and gloves as they were hampering me some
what. I can remember trying to clamber onto the corner of
a packing case, but without success. It was then that I sensed
rather than saw, something looming above me, then I heard
voices, German voices. I felt myself being dragged across
the saddle tank of the submarine and directed to the conning
tower. I could see a dim glow below and at this stage, I passed
out.
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U-586
When I came to sometime
later, I could smell brandy or some such and I was being rubbed
rather vigorously by a couple of officers, one of whom turned
out to be the Medical Officer who grinned at me and said, “You
are very lucky Tommy, for you the war is over”. I then
lapsed into unconsciousness again, this time into a deep sleep.
(So much for bennys.) Later, when I awoke, I was told that they
had two others on board in the crew’s mess, who were receiving
the same treatment. I must say at this stage, that we were treated
very well, the Captain told us that he had been a POW in the
U.K. in the last war, and was very understanding of our situation.
There was only one exception and he was the Party man on board.
The rest of the crew seemed to give him a hard time, so after
a while he became quite affable. The
other two survivors were from the Maritime A.A. Regiment,
responsible for the Bofors gun down aft. I did not really
know them, as they came aboard just as we sailed. We were
asked the usual questions about armament, complement and cargo
etc. in that order, but we couldn’t tell them anything,
we said, as we had only joined the ship just before she sailed.
The crew, generally were pretty good and we ate as they did.
There was some feverish activity on two occasions, but nothing
came of it, one of the English speaking Germans told us it
was a light ship and they were interested only in loaded ships.
They wanted to hear us sing the Siegfried Line, but we said
only if they would sing Lili Marlene.
One chap gave a very good impersonation
of the announcer covering the Joe Louis vs Max Schmeling fight,
for which he was roundly applauded. The Party man on board
was responsible for propaganda, morale and news releases,
but we got the impression that a lot of it was greeted with
open skepticism. The Captain told us that he was very lucky
to sink us, as he had been shadowing us for 36hrs and had
already fired two torpedoes at us before the hit. He also
said it was unlucky for us that the weather had cleared and
moderated, otherwise he could well have lost contact with
us. We were told that little more than 5 minutes could have
elapsed between the time of the strike and our being picked
up. The ship went down in under 2 minutes with great underwater
explosions. It was at this time that he again asked what our
cargo was, but I think he knew our answer before he asked
the question.
Some things I remember quite clearly, like the smell on the
submarine, musty, damp, sour are words that spring to mind
to describe the general impression. They did surface at night
to freshen the boat and I think from memory, that was when
we had a hot meal. Mostly the meals consisted of tinned goods,
sandwiches with a sort of polony or liverworst, with black
bread, tinned, would you believe it. They called it “schwartze
brot” which means black bread in German, but it was
more a dark brown which, we were informed was very healthy.
It was very sour, but they ate it, so we did too. We were
fed the same food as the crew, without exception. I got the
impression that tinned fruit was a special treat, the way
that one or two of the crew reacted when it was presented
with the meal, only once, I think, maybe twice. Not five star
quality, but acceptable under the circumstances. There was
quite a ritual involved in using the “Heads”,
which had to be followed “to the letter”. Otherwise,
failure to do so could have resulted in upsetting the trim
at the very least. There could have been other dire consequences
also. I was just over 17 at this time and was not over impressed
with propaganda, so did not know what to expect if ever I
was captured. I don’t think there were too many of us
ever thought about it seriously. Even though we had been shown
how to use the loo, a petty officer used to go in and check
after us and we always had to ask before we were allowed to
use it. Suspicious lot weren’t they?
Our acceptance by the crew was not too bad, there was the
odd exception, but generally they were pretty good. Some,
I think, were even sympathetic to our plight. We were not
strictly under guard, but under survelliance, unobtrusively.
There were no pistols or arms in evidence. There were only
two or three English speakers on board, one of whom was the
Captain. They were keen to speak to us when they could and
were friendly enough. This is my own personal opinion. I can
not speak for the other two, as we were not together all the
time.
I got to know Paul Preuss, the chap I was corresponding with,
(he was the engineer on the U-boat) through a Mr. Harry Hutson
who was the author of a book called “Grimsby’s
Fighting Fleet.” Paul Preuss sent Reg a number of
pictures of U586 and her crew, but the quality is so poor
I could not reproduce them here.
Details on U586 can be found here.
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Norway
We finished the patrol on U-586 (Class VIIC)
after about 8-9 days and sailed into Narvik, where we were to
meet up with a quite different type of German, a lot of who
were barely out of their teens. On our arrival in Narvik, we
were handed over to the Wermacht. The contrast between the two
services was like chalk and cheese. We were duly signed for,
taken to a Russian POW camp where we were strip searched, taken
to the showers, after which we were given old but clean clothing
to wear, probably Russian army stuff, while ours was cleaned.
(I don’t know why the strip search, there didn’t
seem to be a lot of trust between the two services.) Shortly
afterwards, a German guard arrived with two Russian POWs in
tow, carrying our cleaned and pressed clothing, (we never saw
our leather jerkins again, probably commandeered for the Russian
Front). They put us into a round type wooden hut without windows,
but with 2 doors and a gravel floor, half of the floor area
was raised about a foot with a wooden platform on which we were
meant to sleep. The two prisoners were detailed off to be our
servants and the guard insisted that they were to do everything
that we required of them. We didn’t insist of course,
but they were responsible for the firewood and the collection
of our meals. Fish raw, fish boiled, fish soup, you name it
any way you like. There were
a fairly large contingent of Russians there and the Germans
treated them as little more than animals, they went to great
lengths to explain why they regarded them as sub-human, probably
more propaganda, but the word soon got around that we were
there and during our exercise periods, we could see the poor
wretches pulling great sledges loaded with firewood and being
encouraged, most vociferously but the German guards. When
the Russians saw us, they would sometimes surreptitiously
make the V sign. I think the repercussions could have been
fatal for them had they been caught.
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On
to Germany
After
a couple of weeks, we were suddenly taken out of the camp and
placed aboard a small ore carrier called the Damfer
Spree Bremenshe of about 2,000 tons and loaded
to the gunnels with pig iron. She sailed almost immediately
and dodged all the way down the Norwegian coast between the
Islands and the Mainland. We stopped off at Kristiansand, Stavanger
and holed up in Kristiansund until the time was right to make
the mad dash across the Skaggerak. All this time we had been
locked in a small cabin under the bridge. As we left, the Captain
came down, along with another chap in uniform to let us out
and said that if we did anything to endanger the ship, he would
shoot us, he then went on to say that he wanted us to have as
much chance as the rest of the crew should the ship be sunk.
It is a very dangerous trip he said and we must be silent. Don’t
know what he meant by that, his English wasn’t that good
and he was very nervous. He looked to be about 60 odd and should
have been home playing with his grandchildren. Everyone was
in life jackets, even us and the cook in the galley. We were
suddenly at the mercy of the Royal Navy and the RAF.
It was with very mixed feelings that
we made that mad dash across the strait to Kiel, at a magnificent
7 knots. We had a very nervous but uneventful trip. It would
have been just too ironic had we not have done. When we arrived
a Kiel, we were unceremoniously bundled ashore, just as we
were, we had no luggage to worry about. We then were made
to get into a truck under guard and driven across country
to Wilhelmshaven where the real business of interrogation
began. We were allotted what appeared to be a dormitory in
an upstairs building. We asked for food and reading and writing
material as it was now about the middle of Jan ’43 and
no one knew where we were or what had happened. We were refused
writing material until after the interrogation, but they did
give us reading material, an English version of Hitler’s
Mein Kampf. We didn’t do very well in the food stakes
either, although under the circumstances, we did as well as
could be expected. Someone said the coffee was made from burnt
ground acorns and chestnuts, the bread was very dark and rough,
the only thing I recognized was the potatoes of which we got
two and a bowl of watery soup. We couldn’t decide what
the main ingredient in it was, but it went down well as it
was the first meal we’d had in a day and a half. We
were fed every 12 hrs while we were there, 0600hrs and 1800hrs,
whether we needed it or not.
We only had a few days there, as we were unable to volunteer(??)
any information. There were threats, cajolements and offers
of English cigarettes, some of which we managed to get without
compromising anyone. We asked once again about being allowed
to write to our families and were told that would be arranged
through the Red Cross. The interpreter then told us it was
just as bad for the German soldiers to get letters to their
families from the Russian Front. I think it was his way of
telling us to stop our moaning. The questions during the interrogation
were, “How many ships”, “What cargo and
complement”, and “What ports did we assemble at?”
They were also very interested to know if while we were in
Reyjkavik, there was any air activity. No one had mentioned
Reyjkavik at any stage of the proceedings, we couldn’t
tell him anyhow, we weren’t there and we never saw any.
They were also very interested in what sort of armament we
carried. I think they finally gave us up as a bad job, either
that or they thought we were bigger liars than Tom Pepper.
(Note: Tom Pepper was a person who, according to nautical
tradition, was kicked out of hell for being a bigger liar
than His Satanic Majesty. The term dates back to at least
1787. It is still in use in South Yorkshire. and Wales.) We
were then cleared to be admitted to a regular POW camp.
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Milag
Once again, we were loaded on to a truck with a lot of German Naval
Personnel, some of which turned out to be guards at Marlag und Milag
Nord, the camp to which we were headed. This camp was located between
Hamburg and Bremen, which was ideally situated during the 1,000
bomber raids, great for morale! It held about 4,000 men in all,
it was split into several sections, each with their own barracks,
there were R.N., Marines, D.E.M.S. Maritime Regiment and mostly
M.N.
Reg told John Middleton years later that he was subjected to
a severe grilling by the POW committee as they believed he may have
been a “plant” by the Germans. He arrived in camp as
the only survivor of the Empire Gilbert and was saved by a U-boat.
The other POWs did not trust him and made life somewhat awkward.
When he applied to join the soccer team they would not accept him.
In the late 1990’s, Reg went to a reunion of Milag POWs and
just before the close, a former prisoner came up to him and said
“I remember you, you were the “plant” that the
Germans stuck in with us!” As Reg said, “after 50 years,
it showed how deep their suspicions ran!”
We were taken to reception and booked in, given a number, taken
to the Red Cross Office and there, issued with underwear and khaki
pants, battledress, boots etc, then we went to our respective camps
and barracks. We were firmly entrenched as a guest of Herr Hitler
for the duration. –But not too firmly.
As a sequel to this part of the story, my mother had been advised
that I along with the rest of the ship’s company, was missing,
presumed drowned, through enemy action. She didn’t learn of
my survival until early March, well after my memorial service.
After I was registered and give a number, I was taken by a Postern
(guard), to barrack 29 and tere introduced to the Hut Captain, who
in turn showed me to a room which held 20 men. Around the walls
were set 10 double tier bunks, one of which was to be mine.
Once the guard had left and I had dumped my gear on my allotted
bunk, the questions came thck and fast, -what ship? –what
run? –when sunk? – where from? And all the latest news
that I could remember –now all about 2 months old. I was assailed
by the theatrical group wanting to know what was playing at the
theatre, latest songs, Vera Lynn’s latest, Ad Infinitum. I
later found out that they had a very active group in the camp and
put on plays such as The Desert Song, Rose Marie, (The original
playbill for Rose Marie was in Tommy's logbook.
Gabe Thomas also provided a description of the
Merchant Navy Theatre.) The pirates of Penzance, The Student
Prince, The Mikado, as well as lots of other local productions.
They were a very versatile group and were an inspiration to all
of us. There was even an orchestra in the camp from the RMS Orama
passenger ship which was sunk after being diverted to her usual
duties to pick up some of the lads from Norway after the withdrawal.
Fortunately, she had not embarked anyone. What wasn’t made
from Red Cross string and packing cases for scenery was supplied
courtesy Red Cross.
When I first arrived at the camp, Red Cross parcels were being
distributed at the rate of I per person per fortnight, which gradually
tailed off to 1 parcel to 4 people and then finally stopped toward
the latter stages. We were also allowed to receive the odd clothing
parcel from home, with socks, pullovers and other war clothing.
Any civilian clothing was intercepted by the Germans and marked
with a white KGF (Kriegsgefangerer), POW in English. If you could
get to the marked clothing in time, you could clean it off, which
was a major plus, as all the clothes went to the escape committee,
which was very active in most camps if not all. The Cooler in our
camp was always in use, that was where you spent the mandatory 28
days if you were caught after having escaped solely on German rations,
which wasn’t pleasant. The camp even ran to a couple of tunnels,
but we were so far out in the open, there was nowhere to get lost
once yo got out, but it did keep the Germans busy trying to find
them. There are so many aspects to this yarn that I will confine
myself to just the bare tale. After having re-read some of this,
some may think it was a bit of a holiday camp. Not so, but we were
not as badly treated as some of the other chaps, mainly I think
because our Guards were “burned out” ex German Imperial
Navy types, so of whom were very disillusioned with the state of
affairs in Germany. A few of these chaps we were able to cultivate
and get some badly needed equipment into the camp, like parts for
radios, maps, German money and other “escape” goodies.
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Life
at Milag
Once settled in, I found that there were several work gangs or Arbiets
Kommandos in the camp. We were not forced to work at that stage,
but you could volunteer. Most of the work was towards the maintenance
of the camp and our own welfare. There was a compulsory work force
called the “Straffe-Kommando”, which was always over
subscribed to. This gang consisted of the tearaways, of which there
were more than just a few. Some of us were lucky and didn’t
get caught. You were “appointed” to the Straffe Gang
if you were caught in possession of ANYTHING that came from outside
the cam, i.e. German money, fresh produce, eggs, fresh fruit, civilian
clothing, etc. etc., also if you called the Germans square-heads,
they didn’t like that or any other agro. The work that this
gang was assigned to was pumping out the latrines, which were “long-drops”
and if you can imagine three and a half thousand men, they were
set for life! It was all pumped up into a long cylindrical tank
on 4 wheels with shafts, so that it could be pulled across the “Appel
Platz” or parade ground, out through the gates, all by muscle-power
and then spread across the paddocks adjacent to the camp. If they
had time for any other unpleasant tasks, then this was duly allocated
to them by Hauptmann Rompa, who had a vicious sense of humour and
wasn’t adverse to telling the boys to “Yump an der poo
und make plenty room for more “. Of course, he was told what
he could do and that meant another week on “Der Straffe-Gang”.
Some of these lads were tough and didn’tgive an inch. I think
some of the Germans were glad to see the end of the war. Thank God
for the Geneva Conventions and the Red Cross.
You can see a picture of a Milag latrine
provided by Gabe Thomas if you click here.
There was another camp a few miles away called Sandbostel which
had quite a reputation for discipline and if any one over played
their hand, they were packed off for a spell of “R&R”
as the Germans laughingly called it. It was no picnic, some of the
lads never got back to the camp. The Germans were confused and confounded
by our sense of humour, it was always to the fore, sometimes a little
jaded, but always there. We had one Kommandant who insisted that
whenever a German Officer passed, he was to be saluted. Our Senior
British Officer informed him that capless men were not required
to salute in the British Forces. Chaps that had worn caps throughout
their captivity, suddenly went around bareheaded. So a new scheme
was introduced by the Komandant, the Germans then began to Hiel
Hitler, but that was doomed to failure also, because we responded
with Hail Churchill. Morale in the camp was absolutely magnificent.
Some of our marching and turn out was smarter than that of our captors.
A German Feldwebel (Sgt) was overheard telling some of his platoon
about it.
Towards the latter stages of the war, the rumour was that Hitler
and Himmler had passed a directive that persistent escapers and
other ethnic groups in the camp were to be eliminated. We didn’t
know the truth of it, but thought it was not beyond the bounds as
they had been suffering some massive reversals in several areas.
This order was to apply throughout all the camps in Germany. It
was about this time that the Red Cross parcels finally dried up,
as the Germans said they could not guarantee the transport facilities
or the safety of the pick up gangs. We were then totally reliant
on the German rations that were issued to us. Some of the guards
remembered when they had been offered a cup of real coffee and responded
accordingly, others put the boot in. Most of the lads had been able
to stash a little away against such a time and were able to sustain
themselves reasonably well along with the German rations which daily
consisted of:
• 1 piece black bread 4”x2”
• 2 medium sized potatoes
• ½ pint of watery soup
• ½ pint of ersatz coffee
Then twice weekly, 2ozs of jam or margarine, either or. The German
rations alone would never have sustained us and so I, along with
several thousand other ex Kriegies are forever in the debt of the
Red Cross Society, God bless them. We would never have made it without
them. Some of the parts we required for radios, maps, German money
etc, were purchased using our Red Cross goodies to barter with.
In the latter stages, we had 3 radios in the camp and so knew pretty
accurately what was going on. Great morale booster! Even some of
the Guards in the know used to greet us with “Was gibst neu?”
(What is the news?) Radios in the camp were Strenglich Verboten,
but we always got wind of a search by one or other of our suppliers.
Some of these guards took amazing risks, because if they had been
caught, they could be absolutely certain of a transfer to the Russian
Front, the threat was taken very seriously.
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The
Farm Kommando
About the end of September 1943, I was picked to go on the Farm Kommando.
This was just what I had been waiting for as it opened up all sorts
of possibilities, smuggling stuff into the camp, getting stuff out,
making contacts with foreign workers and primarily planning an escape.
With this in mind, I was able to get a few things out of the camp
and hidden away as it was getting late in the year, I decided it had
to be soon, so within a fortnight of being on the job an opportunity
arose and I was off. The farmer sent me on an errand about 3kms away
and I decided to give it a go. Bad guess, I was picked up about 6
hours later, but was able to get rid of my stores, map and compass
before they saw them. I was able to convince the Germans that I was
on an errand for the farmer and that I had gotten lost. I was then
taken back to the farmer who corroborated my story and “Phew”
got away with that one. After that failure, I thought it would pay
me to get in touch with the escape committee and keep my ear to the
ground for awhile and find out how it was done. The farm gang commuted
daily between the camp and the farms we were working on and getting
stuff in and out of the camp was quite an achievement in itself. If
you were taking stuff out, you held a couple of cigarettes in your
right hand and when the guard came to search you, if he was in the
know, he would start on your right. That was the moment of truth,
because he would have those fags out of your hand quicker than you
could blink. After a cursory rub over, you were then passed through
the gate, but if you got an over zealous guard, he would strip you
of all you had and put you in solitary for the mandatory 7 days on
hard rations.
Coming back into the camp was pretty much the reverse of going
out, except that you carried your entrance fee in the left hand
as this was the furthest away from the Sgt. of the guard. Same rules
applied, although there was the odd accident. Generally we knew
who was going to be on the gate and so we acted accordingly. Some
of the lads had an extended jock strap affair and this was used
for the carriage of eggs through the gate. This could be sometimes
catastrophic, especially if there had been a change of guards on
the gate –Very messy. For the most part, the system worked
as well as could be expected and we were able to bring in some much
needed equipment at times..
On some of the farms, the work ceased when the hay season was
completed, the cows had been dried off and the potatoes had been
put down in pits. We were then allowed the winter off and stayed
in the camp. While wewere out on the farms, we returned to the camp
every night. We insisted on this, having seen the conditions under
which some of the other foreign workers lived. There were Poles,
Russians, French, Yugoslavs and Czechs. These were all conquered
nations and the treatment of some of them was very harsh. They were
held in special lagers with the absolute minimum of facilities.
We did what we could for some of them but it was never enough.
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Bombing
Raids
Round about the latter part of ’43 into ’44 the big 1,000
bomber raids started and we were well situatied between Breman and
Hamburg to see a lot of these, although all windows had shutters which
were closed whenever night raids occurred. We were still able to observe
most of what went on, mostly during the daylight raids and these were
great morale builders. At night we could see the glow of the firestorms
and hear the distant sounds of bombs and Ack Ack fire and now and
then the odd plane caught in the searchlights and bracketed by the
AA. Sometimes a plane would flame down or blow up.
At night during raids, thre would be extra guards sent into the
camp and I remember on such a night there were several of us had
sneaked down to the end of the barrack to smoke and watch the raid
in progress. So intent were we on watching the sky, we didn’t
spot the guard coming at us with a fixed bayonet until he let out
a yell that would have put Sgt. Major Britton (had the loudest voice
in the British Army) to shame. We were in a bit of a cul-de-sac
and the only way out was over, under or through him. Afterwards
the boys reckoned I climbed straight over the top of him. I couldn’t
remember as I was nursing a bit of a gash in my left wrist, which
I fondly believe was caused by his bayonet. I’ll never know,
it could have been his helmet, insignia or belt buckle, but we got
away OK. We know who the guard was so I’m sure he must have
known who we were, or at least some of us and for the next couple
of days we sweated it out wondering when we were to be called to
task over it. No one was allowed out of the rooms whilst a raid
was in progress and we had broken all the rules that night. After
thinking about it we realized he couldn’t report it as he
could have been had for dereliction of duty, which could possibly
have meant transfer to the Russian front.
The sequel to this little story was to hear my eight year old
son regaling his friend and his sister with the story of his Dad
being locked in mortal combat hand to hand with a German. I didn’t
enlighten him.
Once we realized that the guards were not without their own fears,
our escapades became a little more frequent and daring and business
with the guards blossomed. We even had a Camp Kommandant whose nick-name
was “Frying Pan”. One can only surmise as to how he
earned the sobriquet. (Gabe Thomas reports that "Frying Pan's
name was Nibli and he got his nickname because he allegely sold
a pan on the camp black market.)
There was a recruiting drive by the Germans for anyone wishing
to stem the “Communist Tide” to join up as members of
a unit to be formed known as the “Britischer Frei Korps”.
There were no takers as far as our camp was concerned, but I did
hear of other nationalities becoming members of their respective
“Korps”.
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Escape
During the winter of ’43 a mate and I thought we would check
out what we could about making a run for it later on. With this in
mind, we set about finding the best way of getting across the Dutch
border. One of our mates had relations in a place calle Asten
near Eindhoven. He was quite positive that we would get help
if we could get there. We would have liked him to come with us, but
he had his own plans and anyway 3 on the run could have been top heavy.
All through the winter, we made plans without telling the escape
committee or anyone else. We made up maps, got hold of a compass,
some German marks and made up our food supply. This was mostly chocolate
cake, which was made by melting the chocolate and adding oatmeal,
chopped prunes and raisins. Once set it was cut into pieces 4”x2”
and 1” thick, all scientifically balanced for the optimum
benefit. We decided against using civilian clothing as the word
went around that you could be shot as a spy if you were caught wearing
them. We never heard of this happening afterwards, but we thought
best not to risk it at the time. About April, May we started back
at work and were able over a period of time to get our escape equipment
out of the camp and stashed away against “Der Tag”.
The time seemed to drag and with the impatience of youth, we decided
to go in early August 1944. It never happened because in late July
there seemed to be some pretty heavy troop movements or exercises
round about the camp area, so we flagged it away for awhile and
had a re-think. We thought that if we got away towards the end of
the hay making season, which was about late Aug-Sept, we would stand
a reasonable chance of making it through to the border. At that
time of the year there were lots of foreign workers moving around
the country, sent to help other farmers with their crops, etc. To
that is what we did. My mate worked on a farm not too far down the
road from where I was and we decided that the first time we went
to help with the hay on another farm that would be it, so a short
time later I was told by the boss that we would be helping with
the hay making on a farm near Zeven, which was not too
far away from my mate’s job. We were able to get organized
and get under way. There was nothing special about it, we just put
our hay-rakes over our shoulders and along with our gear just strolled
away. Everyone else was having a lunch break, but that was one break
that I didn’t mind missing.
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On
the Run
Once out of sight of the others, our nonchalant shamble turned into
headlong flight. We went like the clappers to put as much distance
as possible between us and them. We stayed in the hedgerows where
we could until we got to a fairly wooded part and stopped to take
stock. Once we had decided our direction, we took of again like scalded
cats and were soon on the outskirts of Zeven. It was with
very mixed feelings that we walked up to a few bicycles that were
parked outside of what appeared to be a Post Office and took the best
of them (in for a penny, in for a pound). We cycled, not too slowly
down the road with our hay rakes over our shoulders. Once we felt
we were clear, we decided to stick to the plan. The bikes weren’t
in the plan but they came in very handy. The idea was to travel overland
to Vechta, then on to Bielefeld, then Gelsenkirchen.
Once through, we would head for the Dutch border and cross at Venlo,
but the best laid plans of mice and men…… We holed
up where we could and slept over night wherever shelter was available,
a couple of nights under the stars, but the weather was mild. We
went round the outskirts of towns and villages and stayed in the
rural parts as long as we could until we got to the outskirts of
Gelsenkirchen. We decided at this time to dump the bikes
and hay rakes as we had been worried about being caught in possession
of them. In our situation the consequences could have been very
serious, so in a little stream just outside and east of Gelsenkirchen
are two perfectly good bikes.
We thought from there we would walk through the outskirts in the
direction of Venlo. Unfortunately, halfway thought an air
raid warning went off and we had no other recourse but to go into
the shelter. We followed other people that were being directed to
the shelters by a couple of members of the Volksturm (I think our
equivalent of the ARP but armed). Once inside we felt very vulnerable
as we had no passes or ID of any kind apart from our POW tags which
we were told to carry at all costs.
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Caught
Shortly afterwards, the people started filing out again, I think it
was a false alarm as we never heard any Ack Ack or bombs. As we moved
along we could see one of the Volksturm checking papers as people
went out. We tried to brazen it out by saying we worked for a farmer
on the other side of town and we had come in with him to the market
and that we were French workers. Sill move, should have said Poles
because the chap behind us in the queue came back at us with a mouthful
of French, which completely blew us away. The game was up and from
there it was only a short step to the headquarters of the Gehiemstaats
Polizei (Gestapo) headquarters. Once we realized where we were we
had our only means of ID out in double quick time and with that a
couple of phone calls put them right on the spot.
We were held there for a couple of days until an escort arrived
from our camp with suitable identification. We didn’t relish
the experience. We managed to dump the maps, but they got the compass
which was stuffed down my mate’s sock, also the remains of
the chocolate cake. We recognized one of the escorts as being one
of the guards at the camp and once clear and on the way back he
fussed over us like a mother hen. He was an older man and helped
ease the trip back to captivity in a rough sort of way. Most of
the camp guards at this time were older and infirm. All able-bodied
men had been transferred to the Western and Russian Fronts. He went
on at great length telling us how lucky we were having our ID tags
which he had in his possession. He was not a great fan of the Gestapo.
When we arrived back at the camp we were sent to the delousing
station, then to the cooler to do our mandatory 28 day solitary
confinement, after which we were debriefed by a member of the escape
committee and advised to stay put. The war was almost over and further
escape attempts could be extremely dangerous.
We were called up to the Camp Kommandant, “Frying Pan”,
who told us almost with tears in his eyes that were silly boys and
could have been killed with the end of the war in sight. I was 19
at the time and my mate was 21.
Gabe Thomas has provided this some information on known escapes
from Milag -click here to read about them.
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Freedom
About this time quite a number of the guards and others realized that
it was only a matter of time and the war was lost. Some of the guards
went around trying to ingratiate themselves amongst us, a few of whom
were very deserving as they had been supportive of us during the bad
times and had often turned a blind eye.
One in particular used to come n and listen with us to the BBC
news on the illicit radio. He was quite safe as he had supplied
a lot of radio components. I signed, along with others, Hans Bavers’
letter of recommendation to the CO of the British Army or Allied
Command. I can only hope at this late date that it eased his passage
through the trauma of captivity. Hans had been a coal miner in the
Ruhr Valley somewhere before he was inducted into the Navy. I had
his address, along with many others, amongst my personal effects,
but these were all stolen during the upheaval in our camp when we
were overrun by our forces. I don’t know who it was who stole
these few treasured items, but he’s never been forgiven for
taking them, nor ever will be.
From then on, it was a matter of staying put and listening to
the sounds of the war getting closer. One day a wing of Spitfires
flew over the camp and waggled their wings. One of the corner guard
towers had the tenacity to open up at them with the machine gun
and one of the Spitfires peeled off, came straight back and blew
the corner tower clean out. We were cock-a-hoop and we knew then
that it was only a matter of hours. Not long after that happened
we saw a group of kids, the oldest of who wouldn’t have been
14, all in ill-fitting Hitler Youth uniforms, towing an 88mm gun
down to the bottom of the camp outside and saw them set up about
1km away.
At this time we just about had free reign inside the wire as most
of the guards had moved out, transferred to the Front. Apart for
the 88mm firing at the back of the camp there was not much other
activity until a few incoming shells started to arrive outside the
camp area. I think the 88 must have suffered a hit because it stopped
firing and the remnants of the crew were seen retreating at the
high port. It was not long after that we saw our tanks lumbering
across the skyline, then suddenly all ranged up outside the barbed
wire. One tank drove straight through the wire which I thought was
symbolic, breaking the wire was like snapping the bonds of captivity.
After the war moved on, it was then a matter of being assessed
and listed to be repatriated back to the U.K., all rather an anti-climax
after all the activity over the last couple of days. Most of what
happened after that was quite jumbled. I think we were trucked over
to Brussels and then flown out to North Allerton airfield on a DC3
troop carrier and then home to a great reception with family and
friends.
This account is the bare bones of the story. Many things have been
left unsaid, both good and bad.
Did the war affect my life? It had to.
Would I have chosen the same path at the age I was when I was
released? Yes, I think so but not too soon after.
With the benefit of a lifetime’s experience would I do it
again? Possibly….
Reg Urwin passed away on April 23, 1999.
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