The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders (Princess Louise's)

Day of Reckoning © Tom Barker

"Hamlet: Live by the Sword, Die by the Sword."
William Shakespeare

I woke up to cries of, "There is no Kraut Guard on the wire!" and "Look up at the tower! The Guards have gone!"

I leapt out of my bunk and sure enough, as I looked up at the tower, there was no one there. Someone must have taken a risk and got through one of the windows and removed the wooden bar across the door outside, because the door suddenly swung open and on going outside I saw the bar of 2" by 4" by 4ft wood on the ground. After evening roll call and we were all in the Barracks before it got dark, the Guard would not only lock the door on us, but he would also put across the door the two by four wood and dropped it into the two metal brackets that was secured to the woodwork on each side of the door frame to keep us securely locked in.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, after four years of not knowing what the next day would bring. Hitler had ordered all Prisoners to be shot, Political and POW if the Third Reich looked like it was going to lose the war. He did in fact state,

"I'm not bothered about anyone who is left in Germany since all the best Germans are now dead and the remainder are worthless and not worth consideration."

He also gave orders to blow up Paris. But the Commandant there ignored the order. So to were many more of his orders not carried out, because I think the German Army was beginning to wake up and see that in fact Der Fuhrer was not God, and no matter how much he ranted and raved and waved his hands about, the dreaded Russians still kept coming. And from the other direction, the Allies were advancing. But that first exhilarating moment of knowing at last we no longer had guns pointing at us was indeed better than any champagne, and blokes were linking arms and doing a jig while mouthing a merry tune. Also the sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. I think if it had poured with rain, it still would have been a beautiful day. Blokes were also coming out of other barracks now and we merged and chatted,

"What's happening then?"

One bloke came through the barracks door and he was clutching a tin of cold baked beans in one hand while in the other he held a spoon that was loaded with baked beans, and they were sliding off the spoon and slowly creeping down the front of his shirt. Having stoked his laughing gear with beans it occurred to him that there was something different about today, and beans went flying through the air as he spluttered when a mate slapped him on the back and queried,

"Wots 'appenin' then?"

One bloke looked at the bloke spluttering and spraying half chewed baked beans everywhere and replied,

"I don't know, but it looks like all the Goons have taken off. Must have seen you coming and thought they were next on your menu."

Some bloke had gone back into the hut and told some of the blokes still in bed,

"You can stay in bed today if you wish my man, as there will be no roll call, seein' as 'ow the bloody Goons 'as all nikked off."

And some blokes who had been POW a long time, jumped out of bed and went outside to verify. On finding no Guards in the towers and none on the wire, some went to the Guard room and it too was empty and some of these blokes stood and were wet eyed as it sunk in at last they might get home again in one piece. A couple of blokes did not even bother to come out. They just sat on their bed and rocked and rocked, they were wire happy, and well ready for home. Another bloke was sitting on his bed weeping,

"I want to stay here with me mates." because someone had whispered in his ear,

"It won't be long now, you will soon be home."

I heard someone say, "That poor bugger has a problem. He has got so melancholy with being here so long now that he doesn't want to leave."

Somebody else chimed in, "No bugger knows what them back studs did to him down in the cooler either, just 'cos he got caught trying to escape. Still, on thinking about it. He were lucky not to get shot!"

Sadly, to them, this day made no difference to any other, and they would sit there waiting to go outside on roll call as they had done for four years, to cries from the Guards of "Alle man rous zum appell." (everyone out for roll call)

But today was different. But no matter, they would not move, unless some of our blokes prompted them it was o.k. to do this and o.k. to do that. These were the blokes who were going to need a lot of care and love when they got home, being abused for four years is something that is difficult to understand for a lot of people. Blokes in jail for a crime have rules and the law to live with and they also have rights as a human being. A POW has no rights, and in war time can be shot any time for any reason the Guard wishes to dream up.

As the news began to spread round the different compounds there was a roar like one might hear at a footy match as a goal is scored, as this information began to permeate the gathering crowd. It rippled over the camp as the news spread and was taken in. Suddenly a Russian soldier (a woman) on a shaggy horse with a rifle slung over her back, pistol on her belt, crossed bandoliers of ammo slung over her body, and wielding a sabre dashed through the space between the huts and hurtled on through the camp. I noticed a piece of white card had been nailed to a nearby post and I went over and read,

"You are advised to stay in your camp because Russian soldiers will shoot at any one not in a Russian uniform."

On my way back to my barrack room I was jostled and nudged by blokes who were over the top, and I grinned at them as they thumped me on the shoulder and mouthed,

"Won't be long now old mate."

I was glad to get to my bunk and sat down to have a think about what to do next. I noticed it had suddenly gone very quiet and I saw everyone was watching something happening over in the Russian POW compound, so I went outside and joined the crowd to see what was so interesting and I wished I had not. It was grisly and haunting. I was used to seeing death in combat and had assisted pulling burning bodies from tanks, but to see a human butchered like a pig by an enraged mob was a new experience.

There was in our camp a German Guard called Blondie, he was in charge of the Russian work parties. In my mind he was also the meanest back stud in any Army. He would hit a P.O.W. just to see the man in pain. He usually carried a pick handle and would lay into anyone who got in his way. He was about six foot tall and heavy built with blonde hair, blue eyes and a permanent scowl and looked what he was in his grey uniform with all the relevant badges to show he had been in the Hitler youth, a typical SS bully boy. And we knew for certain that he had killed eight Russian blokes in this camp, skinny unarmed P.O.W. blokes who could not fight back.

One day a cart with rubbish and potato peelings was on it's way to the rubbish pit to be burned, when some hungry Russian POW grabbed some of the peelings off the cart. Blondie saw them and put his pistol to the back of one blokes head and shot him, and beat another senseless with his pick handle and broke his arm, and lashed out at others who came too close to him. He then made the rest pick up the dead man and put him on the rubbish cart, all the time hitting anyone within range of his pick shaft, and the dead man was taken to the pit and burnt along with the rubbish. He was also responsible for the death of a bloke I knew, so I shed no tears for Blondie, but to see a bloke die like this was like being in the grip of a nightmare.

The Russian P.O.W., now free, were applauding the woman on the horse and she was basking in this adoration. Some had been busy raiding the small allotment garden in the camp to get anything that was edible and that was where they found Blondie the German Guard hiding in one of the tool sheds. He had been found asleep in a drunken stupor and was now struggling and I thought perhaps he was still too drunk or half asleep to comprehend what was happening. Perhaps he thought he was having a wild dream and at times tried to keep his feet, while a group of very determined Russian POW steered him now unarmed to an upright post in the camp that was festooned with barbed wire and had an electric light on it's top.

A large group had gathered and two or three Russians had hold of Blondie by the arms. Blondie was struggling and shouting and screaming, but to no avail. The woman on the horse just sat there and watched as a skinny Russian POW threw a rope over the lamp post nearby and fastened it round Blondie's ankles. Three or four thin Russian POW got hold of the rope and pulled, while two more held on to Blondie's arms and pulled him off his feet, then they all heaved together and Blondie became airborne. The Russians on the rope pulled Blondie's legs off the ground and the two holding the arms let go so now Blondie is grabbing at tufts of grass to stop himself being hoisted upside down. He suddenly seemed to awake from his stupor and began struggling violently, but it was now too late, because he was immobilized and off his feet. The Russians kept hoisting until Blondie was about two or three feet clear of the ground.

For a short while Blondie was swaying back and forth and trying to reach up to untie the rope round his ankles. When it looked like he might succeed, one Russian grabbed his arm and cut and hacked until the hand fell off to the ground, meanwhile Blondie's other fist is flailing at the blokes back until another Russian POW grabbed the arm and hung on to it. The bloke with the knife did the same to the other hand. Then it sounded just like a pig was being butchered and Blondie is screaming abuse that didn't make sense and writhing upside down and blood is being spattered on the watching Russians who move back to avoid getting wet.

After a while the screaming stops and the body twitches as the blood is just a drip now and then. Another Russian moved forward and I thought he was comforting the German, it looked as though he was giving him a hug bye byes. But when he stepped back he suddenly held up the severed head of the German for all to see. Then looking at it, he spat on it, then as though in disgust, he threw it to the side of the road, and strode over and urinated on it, and one or two of the other Russians walked over to it and did the same.

A butcher has enough compassion for an animal he is about to butcher in that he will dispatch it with the least amount of pain, but to me this was barbaric. But when one thinks of all the death camps and all the people the Nazis killed in all countries and all the misery they caused, this one death is but a drop in an enormous ocean. To the Russian POW it was justice, to everyone else it was War. How thin too is that veneer that we hide under, and we call it civilisation. I would like to point out here to those sceptics who say the Holocaust and some of the war stories by different authors are not true. How come they were seen not only by me, but thousands of POW in that camp, British, French, Russian, Greek, Americans, Dutch, etc.?