The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders (Princess Louise's)

TRAINS © Tom Barker

"Down dark symbolic tunnels no light could shine,
But broken bright tracks of freedom guided their time."
H Marshall

The first labour camp I was in was Stalag 3D, near a village called Teltow and Herr Montag was the Camp Commandant. I will rephrase that, Herr Montag was the Commandant of our Camp and I never saw him once with his hand fluffing up his hair or posed on one hip, while the other hand dabbed ashes of roses behind both ears.

A labour camp was so named because, if the inmates did not work, the inmates did not eat. So one did not have a choice, but to work to live. I think one does what one has to, just to survive, because who knows what tomorrow may bring. The food we got was just enough to sustain us, so that we could work.

One day when we were on the station platform waiting for a train to take us to our work. The Guard who was watching over us, was told by the station master to move us away from the station. Every one else was also ushered away from the station and I thought to myself, 'there must be a bomb'! But a little while later, an all-black, heavily armoured train bristling with anti aircraft guns came gliding into the station and as it stopped, SS guards blocked all doors.

Through one of the huge oblong windows, of what looked like the lounge carriage, I could plainly see Adolf Hitler talking to someone sitting opposite him across a table. We were approximately a hundred yards away.

On Crete, I thinned-out a few Germans from over half a mile away with a sniper's rifle. The thought flashed through my mind to grab the rifle off the Guard who was busy picking his teeth. He didn't appear to be interested in what was going on around him and grabbing the rifle would have been child's play. Then I thought, if the glass is bullet proof I would achieve nothing and we would all have been shot, probably including the Guard. And to me the swap was unequal, fifteen P.O.W. plus one Guard. I didn't consider even Hitler was worth that much.

The train moved on about fifteen minutes later, and I missed my chance of getting my name into the history books. When the train had gone, we were allowed back on the platform to board our train and go to work. Later on in the day at work, I would say to the Guard

"Pingle pauser." meaning I wanted to relieve myself and I would point behind some rail wagons.

The Guard would shout, "Ya, ya." and wave o.k.

I would crouch behind the wagons and pretend to be looking for ants in the gravel. When I was sure no one could see me, I would lift the metal lid on the axle grease box of the nearest wagon, scoop out a hand full of grease and push into the grease box a lot of sand and gravel then put the grease back on top of it and shut the lid. There was no point in doing more, since it only needed one wheel on the whole train to become defective, to derail the lot. I would emerge with a contented smile at the Guard and to add a bit of colour, I would be adjusting my clothing.

I knew what I was doing, so if I got caught, I would be shot as a saboteur. Also, one never knew who one was talking to. So it paid to keep schtumm. I did not push my luck and I would sometimes make up for lost chances. What I mean is, I never stuck to a pattern. But sometimes opportunities could not be ignored.

One Guard we had was a real Casanova. He used to wait till we were working and he would move away from us then pull out this little mirror and look at himself. While smoothing his eyebrows and tweaking his nose one day, he was so busy looking in the mirror, he tripped over a tree root and nearly fell down.

All the blokes had stopped working and had been stood watching him for a while with comments like,

"Cor! Don' e' loike hissel?" and,

"It's just as well, 'cos no bugger else does."

Then there would be a titter of mirth, and when he tripped everyone shouted,

"Bravo! Encore, author!" and we all clapped our hands.

The Guard got real nasty, so we went back to working.

The bearings in the axle box of a rail wagon are made of white metal. The melting point of the metal is a little above that of lead, and while they are lubricated by the grease packed in the box, they stay relatively cool, but should impurities like sand get in, it would cause friction. Friction generates heat, which in turn melts the grease, that turns to liquid and the liquid runs out of the box. The now dry bearings get hotter, until they also turn to liquid and leak out of the box. The axle that was turning between two halves of well-greased white metal, now has a whole box, about a foot square, to jump about in.

The reason the axle now jumps is, since the axle is no longer held in its correct position, the rim of the wheel running on the railway line is no longer in line with the railway line and when the drag of the line on that wheel makes the axle smash back into the now empty axle box, it bounces to the other extreme and hits the opposite end of the box and continues like a riveting hammer bouncing back and forth, until finally the box is destroyed and the wagon jumps off the rails, causing havoc.

If it occurs near a built up area or hilly area, it really causes havoc for a long time, and the cost to the British government was not so many Lancaster bombers and crews, but a ten bob a week Pte Soldier - should he get caught. But the Germans never had a clue that some of the Tommies in P.O.W. work Commandos watched over by, 'ever-alert German Guards' all day, were responsible. The best part about it was, that Partisans were being blamed for it,

"The French Underground has struck again!" would be the cry.

Don't get me wrong. I think the French Underground did a terrific job. As did lots of other individuals. But I think it is now time to uncover some of the things we POW got up to - despite the fact we had a Guard with us all the time. We socked it to Jerry right under the noses of the German Guards, and without tools or explosives. The only thing that got up my nose were the blokes who would say,

"I can stick this till the war ends." and

"You're a bloody idiot, risking getting caught and shot, and for what? When it's all over, who will care what any of us did?"

I would lay on my bunk and think out different ways I could outwit the Kraut - so to speak. I often wondered how they got that name, 'Jerry'. Was there any connection with the pot under the bed? Maybe toilet would have been an even better word. Perhaps I was Flag-happy, but I was not alone. Maybe my Mum bought me too many comics when I was a kid, but I would do it again, given the chance.

Why, suddenly, am I writing this? Well I am now 82. No big deal. Lots of people get to be 100. The only trouble is, we don't get a ticket or a pass that guarantees we will get to be 100, so I thought it was time to write this and pass it on to another lad who might have a bit of pride for his folks and where he lived. And possibly clue-in some people who seemed to think we sat around on our backsides waiting to be rescued.

We would be working one day and suddenly a cheer would go up when a train went racing past with smoke pouring from one, and sometimes two, of the wagon axles and we would hear from the Guards that the Underground had struck again. Little did they know! When we saw two wagons smoking on the same train we decided to find out who was the other 'Sand Bandit', but to no avail, and quite right too. That way he remained 'A Nonny Mouse' to all, so no one could Rat on him. But it did prove that there were others devoted to earning their weekly pay, even if they were in the bag.

I would be really 'chuffed' when the smoke coming from an axle belonged to a train loaded with fifty Tiger tanks and other war materials. And it was good to see that the wagon with the smoky wheel was in front of the wagons loaded with tanks, because all the wagons after the smoky would be derailed, so fifty tanks would be late for the Front - if they got there at all. Certainly some would be damaged. Some would say I was mad to go picking up the white metal off the sleepers where it had dropped from the wagon, forming shapes like coins, and sometimes like teardrops. When I got this metal back to camp, I would save it until I had enough to make utensils.

The only time I would abort a try at sanding an axle would be, if I saw anyone with a camera slung over their shoulder, or carrying a case where a camera could be hidden. What I did, only took about five seconds to do, but a camera could catch me in the act and it would be a record for all to see for a long time.

Then we got moved

When I built up this wall that was supposed to key into an existing wall at right angles, I left out the key brick. When the wall was finished, if some one leaned a ladder against it, it would fall down. I think of it now as a stupid waste of time, since it served no purpose. If you have ever seen a wall with half bricks missing every other layer then these were the bricks I left out. But the snag was, before they got covered up, the Guard spotted what I was up to and stopped me from doing that job any more.

I always remembered that Guard's face, because usually they took great delight in reporting any miscreant who got caught even pulling a sliver of a plank of wood just to pick his teeth with, and the charge would be sabotage. The Germans never read out any documents giving a reason why someone was facing a firing squad. The excuse was always the same, 'Sabotage' and as one of our barrack room lawyers put it,

"If any of you blokes go to the loo, just make sure it's for a c**p and not a w**k cos Jerry will 'ave yer if yer caught wi' yer d**k in yer fist, cos yo is wastin' energy that's needed fer work."

The Guard made me join the lads who were mixing the mortar, so I put in less cement and stuck it to the Jerry that way. But the next day, I was not with the building brigade any more. Alas I was now missing out on those hot potatoes at midday and had to settle for what passed as soup. And yes it looked like someone had just passed it - and sometimes smelled like it as well.

To make matters worse, anyone in the camp all day had to put up with being roused-about by some of the 'ferrets'. Ferrets were the German Guards who did not patrol the wire, but roamed all over the camp just watching and waiting for an excuse to harangue or abuse anyone they thought hadn't been abused lately. They took to baiting anyone.

For example, one day a bloke with a broken leg was hobbling along and a ferret, coming from the opposite direction, turned his foot a little and tapped his toe against the near crutch, causing the bloke to crash to the ground. All the Guards had a good laugh, meanwhile the ferret was saying how sorry he was and added,

"Vy don' you look vare you are goink?".

There were lots of little incidents that were more frustrating than annoying. Some of us thought the mentality of these Goons was such, that it was the reason they were here. They were too stupid to be otherwise employed, and when some of us voiced this opinion, it was like someone had scored a goal at a footy match and it helped to get us through the day.

We had a bloke in our hut, his name was, Nat, he was from the A&SH - same mob as me. But he was a right Charlie One day the camp Commandant came round the huts to inspect them and when he got to Nat, Nat clicked his heels and pressed his hands to his sides and copied the German soldiers way of following the Officer with his gaze, then when the Officer had passed, he clicked his head to the front. Nat spoke a little German, so when the officer spoke to him, Nat stiffened even more and answered in German. The officer remarked that Nat would make a fine German soldier and Nat responded with a click of his heels

Some of our blokes didn't like this show of fraternisation and loudly voiced their opinion to Nat when the camp Commandant and his cronies had gone.

"Why don't you go and join the f---g Krauts, if you are so pally with them?" and they grabbed his bed and slung it out. He must have found succour elsewhere, because he did not sleep in that hut anymore. It was realised later that he had merely been taking the Micky out of the Germans, and had to be convincing, or he could have got the Dawn Walk, followed by a bullet through the back of the head. We would pass the time by telling jokes or making up stories of what we were going to do when we got home and some of the suggestions were hilarious and even if we were hungry we could still laugh.

It also served as a cloak, because, while Jerry was busy wondering why we were so jolly when we had nothing to be jolly about, others were busy with escape plans and diggings. I did hear that in one camp there were so many tunnels under the barracks, one night the whole block sank four feet after it had rained all night. In another barracks, the roof collapsed because of earth piled up in the ceiling. One wooden shed finally did collapse because we had scavenged most of the nails that held it together.

During the night, someone whispered, "What's that noise?" and we all listened. We could hear creak, ---groan, ---creak--- groan, then a long groan which crept up the musical scale until it sounded like a shrill scream, then there was an almighty crash. The next morning, when we went out for roll call, one of the sheds was flat on the ground. The camp Commandant said he would investigate the matter, and one of our blokes shouted,

"Next time, buy British mate!" The camp Commandant asked the interpreter,

"Was sagt er?" (What did he say?) And the interpreter said,

"Englander buder sind immer besser." (British huts are always better) The Commandant gave the bloke a dirty look and stomped off to his office.

Nails made good tools, they also made good axles for fans in tea blowers, (like in a miniature blacksmiths forge). One day a bloke on a tractor was mowing the clover outside the wire and the Guard outside the wire stopped to watch as he passed. All of a sudden, one of the big rear wheels of the tractor sank down and the engine stalled, and when Jerry brought in another tractor to tow the bogged down one out, they discovered a tunnel out of our camp.

For the whole of the next week, Jerry had a search looking for more tunnels. We had some fun because, when Jerry found a tunnel, he would smirk at us and say,

"Vie du yu vaste yore tiame dikkink tannals, ven yu know vie hef vays of findink zem?"

But most of the tunnels were dummies, so we couldn't care less. But it did keep Jerry busy while we were interested in other projects. Anyway, if I made a Jerry miserable, even if only for a short time, it was worth it.

The main clue to success was, think like a German and do the opposite. Well, it worked for me from 1943- 45, when I changed identities with a RAF bloke called Tenny and my getting out of the camp was curtailed.