The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders (Princess Louise's)

The Enemy is Listening © Tom Barker

"The captive bands may chain the hands,
But love enslaves the man;"
Robert Burns

Then the door to the Guardroom opened and out strutted another Guard brandishing a pad and pencil. On approaching our mob, who stood like a collection of pickled dills, he counted us off and warbled to our Guard, "Schimt, weg traiten!" (Correct, march away!)

The Guard with the pad and pencil then returned to the Guard room and reported "Correct" to someone inside and we, "Weg traited" (marched away) out of the front gate of Stalag 3D.

It was a nice day and we sort of wandered down the lane towards the German Village of Teltow. The Guard guided us to what looked like a Mansion next to the Railway Station. It turned out to be a German public house. The Guard knocked on the back door of this place and it was opened by a blond with a figure that advertised she was definitely sixteen or older.

Our Guard spoke to her and with a flash of white teeth she turned and vanished into the gloom of the pub and returned with a ring of keys. Selecting one of the keys, she indicated that this was the one to use.

Our escort then led us to another door of an outhouse and using the key, he unlatched the lock and we were instructed to get the saw that was hung up on a nail in the wall. The Guard also got a ball of twine and prompted one of us to get the ladder propped against one whitewashed wall of this tool shed. We also grabbed a long handled brush and a sack for putting the rubbish into, once we had completed our work.

The Guard then directed us to the side of the big house and pointed to a huge tree that had one branch looking like it was intent on growing straight through one of the bedroom windows.

I thought immediately, "This place is begging to be robbed." because the branch was over the slate roofs of some outhouses and all an agile robber had to do was, climb the tree and along the stout limb, then ease down onto the roof and open the window. But the landlord's main concern was, that when the wind was high, the branch kept everyone awake at night with its, "tap tapping" on the bedroom window in the dark. Not only that, but if left to grow, it could possibly damage the window, by pushing the window in.

My day dreaming was curtailed abruptly as the Guard nudged me, handed me the saw and indicated I was to climb the ladder that had been propped against the tree while I had been in Fairy Land.

Holding the saw with its teeth away from my leg, I got up the ladder safely to the cries of, "Watch it Tommo! Jist dinnie sit oan the bit yer cuttin' aff, an' watch wot yo is cutting aff!"

With the Guard looking up, and all the lads gathered in a little group behind him and also looking up, the local Policeman passing on his bike suddenly did a u-turn, dismounted, then leaned his bike against the wall of the pub and strolled over to the Guard.

"Was machen sie den? Was ist heir los?" (What's going on here?) Some mumbling and pointing at the long branch of the tree by our Guard obviously put the Kraut Cop at his ease, because he nodded and with a parting shot of, "Ach zo, richtig!" (Oh I see, right) he wobbled off down the lane on his bike.

"Nosey Kraut pilluck!" muttered Dicko.

I got settled close to the trunk of the tree, then began sawing the offending branch that was about as far round as a telegraph pole. I had cut about an inch into the branch when it occurred to me it might be better to put the ladder halfway along the branch and cut that leafy part off first. It would be lighter to manage and the heavier thick end could then be cut and lowered by the bit of twine, if it was doubled up twice to make it stronger. This would avoid any accidents. But this meant more work, in that, it would need two cuts instead of just the one. But as I pointed out to the Guard, the whole limb dropping suddenly on to the slates of the outhouses could cause a lot of damage.

The twine would not be strong enough to take the weight of the branch as it was, so the obvious answer was to cut off the end half of the branch first. The second, thicker and heavier half, would be half the weight and safer and easier to manipulate. Having listened and stored one or two words of German, I thought I would test them out on our Guard.

"Also Postern, diesem baum ist gans zu schwer fur den draht, aber zwei shnitten machen, dah und weider heir, und den alles ist preima. Was dinken sie?" (O.K. Guard, this limb is too heavy for the rope, but two cuts, one here and another there, then all is good. What do you think?)

The Guard stood for a moment digesting the information then realized I was addressing him in his own language, or what passed for my German, and he grinned, then blurted out, "Ach, sie kent Deutch!" and looked delighted. (Ah, you know German!)

Then, on seeing I was waiting for an answer, the Guard woke up and blurted, 'Ya, ya, machen sie weiter!" (Yes, yes, get on with it!)

Then I saw the pub wench through the window making up the bed, and she waved a friendly hand as she spotted the movement on the branch of the big tree.

Having heard that these Englanders were going to doctor the tree, she did not scream and run off pointing to the evil shadow now lurking in the tree. Instead, she opened the window and demanded, "Wie heisen sie?"

I replied, "Tom." and she said,

"Und wie gehet es, Tom? Bitte comen sie heir rind!" (Who are you, and how are you? Please come in!)

I thought all my birthdays had come at once, until the Guard shouted,

"Los, mach schnell junger! Lasmal leigen mit den madchen und weiter machen!" (Hurry up boy! Leave the girl alone and get on with it!)

With the tree bough now amputated and the bough stripped of its branches, the wood was sawn up and stored in one of the outhouses to dry out and become fire wood.

When we had finished the job, the blonde wench appeared with a tray full of glasses and a couple of bottles of beer which she put onto a table near one wall of the pub. The Guard had us sit on the outdoor wooden latted seats and grab a drinking glass. He produced a bottle opener and we sat there sippin, 'Kinderbrot Beer' - according to the label on the stubbie brown bottles.

My smattering of German didn't do anything for us, but it did make the Guard's job a lot easier, because now he was addressing me instead of having to hassle our mob to get anything done. Also, it did away with a lot of pushing and shoving and the Guard losing his temper, if we didn't understand what he wanted us to do. So actually it was a bonus for both parties, so to speak, and it did make for a more friendly atmosphere between the Guards and us.

The turning point in our lives as a P.O.W. was when one day a truck turned up at our camp gate and The Swiss Red Cross packages were spotted stacked up in the back of the truck.

It wasn't long before a Guard was unlocking our wire gate, and grabbing a gang of us, marched us to the truck where we were instructed to form a queue from the truck to a store room and the packages were manhandled to that room and stored there.

Meanwhile, the head Brit Sgt had been present counting the parcels as they were unloaded and then signed the Drivers chit, which was clipped to a pad. The Camp Commandant also signed it. Then, after a flurry of salutes between the Driver and the Camp Commandant, the Sgt and the Camp Commandant, the Driver saluted the Kraut Sgt. and our Brit Sgt, the Camp Commandant grated, "You don't salute them, dumbkopf!"

With the German truck now gone, the barracks was alive with gossip. Speculation was rife as to what was in the packages and how soon would they be issued. We were in the Camp because it was Saturday, and Saturdays were devoted to washing ones clothes and tidying up the Camp and barrack rooms, etc.

Sunday was still observed by most as a day of rest, and indeed those who wanted to go to Church did so by going up to the recreation hall and the resident Brit Army Priest would attend. So we figured, since the Camp Commandant always went home for Sunday, there would be no parcels issued tomorrow.

When one is a child and growing up, the mention of Christmas conjures up Rocking horses, Dolls Houses, Crackers, Christmas Pud, etc etc.

We were grown men, but most were laying on bunks and reminiscing about sinking fangs into turkey legs, and ripping the silver paper off a big bar of Cadbury's fruit and nut chocolate, and roast potatoes covered in rich brown gravy wi' green peas and, "Shut the f**k up about grub! Why don't yer!" suddenly bellowed a voice.

And I also noticed that since we were hungry all the time, there was never any mention of, Girls, Women, Dolly Birds or Sheilas, Wenches or Bints. But when the Red Cross packages were issued and they began to take effect, any magazines containing pictures of nylon covered legs or lace covered boobs were grabbed and perused at length from lots of different angles.

We noticed that an English speaking German Guard was always nearby during the Church service and it occurred to some of us that he was there listening to the sermon, just in case plots were being hatched for a mass escape, under the guise of a sermon. The Germans left nothing to chance.