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In our room, Al Langille took on more and more of the cooking chores and was good at it. He was a character who had more jokes and funny expressions than anyone I have ever known. He was also very good at fixing and repairing things. We had a small upright stove in our room that Al redesigned so that it was efficient and required little fuel. The Germans issued each room a few briquettes (made of powered coal and sawdust) and Al scrounged more from a friend in the cookhouse. We were comfortable throughout the winter in our room, otherwise it would've been necessary to sit around in heavy coats even though it was not a bitterly cold winter. We kept our room neat and tidy and make pictures for the wall out of jig-saw puzzles held together with powdered milk paste. By now we had a good collection of records played on a manual record player. We had South Pacific and Oklahoma albums and individual records by Dinah Shore, Bing Crosby, Ella Fitzgerald and other stars of the time. We also played bridge and I remember the teachings of an RAF guy in Centre Camp named Lusty who said there are just three things to remember in bridge "watch the score, watch the score and watch the score". It has nothing to do with this story but the Lusty family were the sausage kings of Britain and became very wealthy.

We had two windows in our room which provided reasonable life. At dusk the guards would come by and close the wooden shutters and hook them from the outside. They would open them at dawn. In the long winter evenings we sometimes held seances in our room when a hypnotist by the name of Peter Brewer would conduct sessions. Pete was an orderly in the hospital which formed the other half of our barrack block. There was no connecting door but there was an opening in the ceiling and it was possible to crawl from one section to the other. Pete Brewer wanted to become a doctor after the war and believed that hypnosis had an important part to play in the medical profession. Paddy Batson in our was room a willing and responsive subject and Pete would often demonstrate the powers of hypnosis through Paddy. Our room would be jammed with visitors to see Pete put on an amusing and amazing show.

Pete Brewer also put on a few demonstration to larger groups in the theatre but they were never quite as effective as the private sessions. On one occasion in our room, Scoop Huston fell under the hypnotic spell when he wasn't even the subject. Someone else was being put under and Scoop picked up enough of the message that he slumped over on the side of his bunk and begin to shake like a leaf. It took Pete about ten minutes to bring Scoop out of his stupor. We were all worried including Pete as he had never encountered that result before. It is worth noting that Pete cured a RAF Flying Officer using hypnosis. The latter had suffered a back injury in a bail-out and was unable to stand upright,in fact he was doubled over. When the POW doctors determined there was no longer anything physically wrong with him, Pete offered to try and get him to straighten up. All parties agreed and after a couple of hypnotic sessions Pete had the guy standing and walking normally and he was playing soccer the next day. I have no idea if Pete Brewer ever became a doctor. One thing I remember about him —he had piercing blue eyes that were almost frightening.

Earlier in this narrative I told about Max Ellis. I was with him in the Amsterdam jail and he was in our combine for six months at Centre Compound. Max did not team up with us at Belaria although he was more than welcome. He joined a group of RAF chaps in another hut but we saw him regularly while walking the circuit and often stopped for a chat. One day in the late March we got a piece of thrilling news. Al Langille came in from outside and announced that Max Ellis had escaped. We were not surprised since this grizzled, old veteran of the French Foreign Legion was such a keen type. Max had somehow concealed himself underneath a horse-drawn wagon that had been delivering supplies. At the main gate the wagons were always searched but this time the guards were not very thorough and Max made it to freedom. He told us later that he had no difficulty getting clear of the wagon and in the late afternoon dusk he headed across country to get as far away from camp as possible. That same night Max sought refuge in a barn and in the early morning hours of March 25 was awakened from a sound sleep to hear dogs barking, much shouting and the sound of military vehicles. He peeked out through an opening in the side of the barn and saw masses of people milling around. There were German uniforms everywhere including civilian police and Hitler Youth. Max said to himself "By jove, these Jerrie's don't fool around when a chap escapes." He didn't know that he had made his solo escape from Belaria in the afternoon, and the Great Escape from the North Compound, occurred that same night. Talk about unfortunate timing! Of course Max was swept up in the massive search which started immediately after the breakout was discovered.

Although we were only 5 kilometers from Sagan, we had no idea there was a mass escape in the works from the North Compound, even though we now had several of the key men e.g. Wally Floody and George Harsh in our camp. So it was a complete surprise to hear from our guards that a major escape had occurred during the night from North Camp. Naturally we were delighted that a bunch of kriegies had outsmarted the Germans. Later in the day we learned that 76 POWs had escaped. A couple of days later, the Germans announced at all Red Cross parcels would be cut off until further notice. This was later rescinded but for several weeks all tinned goods in the parcels were punctured so that the contents could not be hoarded for escape purposes.

The real shocker came ten days later. The Senior British Officer was called to Sagan for a meeting with the German Commandant and the other Compound Commanders to hear the tragic news that 41 of the escapers had been shot. Our camp was in a state of shock when the SBO brought the terrible news to Belaria. The names of the 41 were posted on the camp bulletin board and although most of us did not know any of the deceased, we felt a sense of loss and unbridled anger. The SBO ordered us to cease all contact with the guards and ferrets and to shun them under all circumstances. This was carried out to the letter and Hans, the ferret who spent a lot of time in our room, couldn't understand why he was being blamed personally for what was obviously an atrocity. In the days to follow, the list of those shot was expanded to 47 and then to 50 which was the final total. In due course the shunning of the guards tapered off and the Germans discontinued the practice of puncturing our tinned goods.

It was only after the war that we learned the full story of the Great Escape and it has been told and retold in novels and movies. It was a case of murder ordered by Hitler himself. It is of interest that many of the escapers were taken to a prison in Goerlitz some 40 miles to the south. From there some were taken out to be shot. When captured, Max Ellis was also taken to Goerlitz and for a time the Germans thought he was one of the escapees from Sagan. Eventually they believed him and he was returned to Sagan and spent 28 days in the cooler. In due course Max arrived back in Belaria and resumed his kriegie life.

Spring arrived early and many of the combines planted a vegetable garden using seeds supplied by one of the international agencies. I volunteered to be the gardener for the `Ritzy Roost" — that was the name we gave our room. In the limited garden space available, I laid out a small plot in the sandy soil and hoped for the best. Paddy Batson offered to help and we planted most of the common varieties e.g., onions, lettuce, carrots, beans and tomatoes etc. and the ample produce was a great supplement to our diet throughout the summer. Sometimes when Ditch was walking the circuit with a friend from another hut, he would proudly point out — 'our' garden and in a kidding way pretended he was a contributor to the success of the agricultural enterprise.There was plenty of water available and we had one of the best gardens in camp.

At Belaria the Canadians played the same sports as at Centre Camp the previous summer. In softball we had several all-star games in which the Kids (under 25) played the Old Goats (25 and over). Other all-star games were East versus West which was a long establishment friendly rivarly. Cy Grant learned to play basketball, a sport not played in his natives British Guyana. He was a fast learner and a natural athelete and in time could have been a star. We had four good teams and I played on a team with Tommy Gardiner and Wilf Kipp, two excellent players from B.C. Wally Floody was a star on another team having played for Tip Top Tailors in a major league.

By early May there was great optimism in camp and it centred around the Invasion which everyone felt was imminent. Newly arrived kriegies told of the massive air strikes on rail targets in France and the concealed BBC radio revealed in general terms that the invasion of Europe was close at hand. Even the German Press was assuring readers that Field Marshal Rommel and the defenders of the Atlantic wall were well prepared to hurl the enemy into the sea. It was no surprise on June 6, 1944 that we learned from the Germans that Normandy was invaded by the Allies. There was sheer ecstasy in camp and I remember Parky shouting,"Bala by Labour Day, Bala by Labour Day." He had visions of being at the family cottage in Muskoka by the end of the summer. The headline in one of the Berlin newspapers read " Die Schlact im Westen hat Begonnen" meaning that the battle in the West had begun. We learned from the BBC that night that five Allied Divisions were firmly in place in Normandy. After a couple of days the German propaganda machine had to admit that the Allies were back in Europe and well established on French soil.

There was a great flap in camp and throughout Germany following the attempt on Hitler's life in East Prussia. The date was July 20, 1944 and the High Command did nothing to conceal the news. The fact that the plot had failed and the Fuhrer was spared was used as a propaganda weapon. It was proclaimed as divine intervention when it became known that the beloved Fuhrer was alive and wouls surely lead the Third Reich to ultimate victory. There were public announcements that all traitors would pay dearly for their cowardly act. After the war we learned that thousands were rounded up, many of whom suffered a terrible and cruel execution. The guards refused to talk about the plot. Some were still ardent Nazi supporters and others simply wanted the war to end so they could go home. All of them were terrified of the Gestapo. The kriegies were disappointed that Hitler survived the bomb blast since otherwise it might have meant an early end to the war in Europe.

All that summer we followed the course of the war on all fronts. The initial progress in the West was slower than we liked and the Russians were still hundreds of miles away. It didn't look as if ParKy would make it to Bala any time soon. We saw our first Luftwaffe jet fighter and were amazed at the fantastic speed and rate of climb. We hoped there weren't many jet squadrons in service as they would create havoc. We begin to see large formations of American bombers, mostly Flying Fortresses, in our part of Germany. They flew in magnificent formation and it was heartening to know they could penetrate this far into the Fatherland in the summer of 1944.

During the summer the Ritzy Roost received four more inmates. All were Canadians whose commissions had come through while in prison camp. They arrived from Stalag 8B in Silesia where they had been in the NCO camp for a year or more. The new arrivals were Bud Gillis from New Westminster BC, John Fraser from Port Alberni BC, Jeae (Shorty) Aubry from Ottawa, and Lincoln (Linc) Torrance from Elrose Sask. Bud Gillis was the WAG in the crew of Don Morgan and Frank Ditchburn so it was old home week. John Fraser was a member of the famous Dambuster Squadron and had a miraculous escape by parachute at the Moehne Dam where he was shot down at low level over the target. Linc Torrance flew Stirling's and Shorty Aubry was an air gunner on a 408 Squadron Halifax. And so we now had an even dozen in the room composed of 10 Canadians, a southern Irishman and a British Guyanian. We got along well and stuck together for the rest of the war.

Although Al did most of the cooking there were other daily chores which we shared. We drew up a weekly schedule in teams of two for the other `household duties'. Parky and I were one of the teams and it worked well. One of the duties we all loathed was washing the dishes. When I say dishes I am using the word loosely. There were tin plates fashioned from tin cans. There was a seam down the middle where the metal sheets overlapped. The mugs made from Klim (powdered milk) tins had smoother surfaces. The Germans issued cutlery. We also had a couple of cooking pots and that completed our kitchen utensils. I always found dish washing the worst of all the chores since it was so difficult to get the dishes really clean. When we had a supply of coal fot the stove we would heat a pan of water and stir in shavings from a bar of soap. We then immersed the dishes in the very hot water and swished them around to get them as clean as possible. I learned from experience that the sooner we get started before the food residue hardened, the better job we could do. I would say to Parky, "Let's get cracking." and his reply was always the same, "What's the hurry, we're not going any place." I must admit he had a point there.

There was an incident that summer that caused quite a stir. One day somebody burst into the room with the news that "Jack Riley has been shot." The Spit pilot from PEI was walking the circuit with a friend and suddenly felt a sting in his right hand. On looking down he saw blood pouring from an open wound and realized he had been shot. Apparently when walking along he had absent-mindedly touched the warning wire and some zealous guard in a sentry box took aim and fired. It was either a lucky shot or the sentry was a magnificent marksman as the bullet entered the hand below the thumb and exited below the little finger. Jack was taken to sick bay and patched up. An investigation followed by the Swiss authorities but nothing much came of it. I saw Jack in Toronto in the early 1950s, and he still had the scar as a souvenir of Belaria.

In early September the Germans needed more space for American POWs as the compounds at Sagan were filled to overflowing. In a matter of weeks the Germans threw up several additional huts on what was formerly the sports field. We were in a small cramped camp and the loss of the sports field was soon felt. The Germans knew that organized sports were good for the health of the prisoners and also helped to keep us out of mischief. Consequently a deal was arranged where groups of prisoners on parole were escorted on organized walks outside camp.

We were taken out in groups of about fifty under guard but there was a feeling of freedom nonetheless. We walked through the open countryside and did not come in contact with civilians. It was very pleasant and made us long more than every for liberation. I was out twice and so were most of the others, however the walks came to a crashing halt due to the antics of Dick Slipp, a Canadian. Before setting out on a walk, Dick left a note saying he was going to escape. The note was discovered after his group had left camp and the Senior British Officer was immediately notified. A breach of parrole is a blot on the honour of the offender and the senior officer. The German authorities were informed and a squad of troops rushed out from Sagan to intercept the walkers including Dick Slipp. There were no more walks and Dick Slipp was found to have a mental problem. He was repatriated a few months later with a group of sick and wounded and before leaving Belaria he gave me his ice skates which his parents had sent from Canada. Dick Slipp lived a long life and died in a Halifax Veteran's Hospital a couple of years ago — in the same hospital ward as Al Langille.

By September, the German transportation system started to break down which resulted in a shortage of Red Cross parcels. The allocation was cut in half and this reduction continued for the rest of our time at Belaria. There were lots of parcels in Sweden and Switzerland but there was no way of getting them to the POW camps in the quantity needed. There was a noticeable drop in the number of calories per man but we still coped. Al continued to be the self-appointed chef and made the most of what we had. Several times threatened to quit and occasionally packed it in for a day or two but always returned to the job.

Throughout the autumn months we followed the course of the war and happily traced the latest allied advances on the wall maps. The RAF was pounding the Fatherland by night and hugh American bomber formations appeared overhead with increasing frequency. As 1944 drew to a close we were optimistic that this would be our last Christmas behind barbed wire. The Western Allies and the Russians were still far away but there were already pools of money wagered as to when the war in Europe would end.

Although we were on reduced rations we had an excellent Christmas dinner using food saved from Red Cross and personal parcels. There was special Christmas entertainment in the theatre and the favourite was the rendition of White Christmas by Johnny Kennedy. Johnny hailed from Thorold, Ontario and was blessed with a wonderful set of pipes reminiscent of Bing himself.

A day or two before Christmas there was a military setback in the West. From out of nowhere, the Germans launched a vicious attack against the American forces in the Ardennes. This was a worrisome development and took the edge off the festive season. Al Langille in particular was despondent and I remember him lamenting, "We'll never get out of here." This historic event became known as the Battle of the Bulge and the breakthrough was eventually stabilized and the 'bulge' eliminated with heavy losses on both sides. It had been a near thing for the Allies.

The new year 1945 arrived with lots of snow and frigid temperatures. It was much different weather than my first year in Germany. A hockey rink was built using banks of snow. In no time at all there were hockey games in progress. There were enough skates to equip two teams and I tried out those that I ended inherited from Dick Slipp. I was never much of a hockey player and was glad to loan my excellent skates to players who could use them to advantage. In one all-star game between the French Canadians and the Anglo Canadians my skates were worn by Joe Vinet of Winnipeg, a former Junior A all-star. I never scored any goals but my skates did.

Around mid January the course of the war took a turn that would soon change our lives. The Russians burst out of the Oder River bridgehead and all along the front extending hundreds of miles, the Red Army started the final push west. In a matter of days the Russians broke through at several points and one of the drives was pointed in the direction of Sagan. The Senior Allied Officers were warned by the German Commandant that Stalag Luft 3 would be evacuated and the prisoners were to be ready to leave on a few hours notice. There was no way that our captors were going to leave 10,000 valuable POWs (in the five Sagan compounds and Belaria). We had a couple of alerts which proved out to be false. At Belaria we heard that the Sagan compounds were already evacuated. We made our kit bags into a form of backpacks into which we stuffed our few precious belongings. From somewhere the Germans found one Red Cross parcel per man to keep body and soul together on the forthcoming march. We packed as many cigarettes as we could carry to be used for bartering.

At suppertime on January 27, 1945 we were told to be ready to leave at 8:00 p.m. Then it was midnight. During this delay Al Langille and Bud Gillis got to work and quickly costructed a large sled made from one of the wooden bunks. It was completely functional equipped with wooden runners and several ropes for pulling.Normally it would be considered sabotage to damage or destroy property of the Third Reich. In this case the guards looked the other way and soon there were sleds being constructed everywhere. Hammers, saws and nails that had been squirreled away were put to good use. Of all the sleds, ours was among the best thanks to Al and Bud.

We didn't leave Belaria until daybreak on January 28 — some records indicate that Belaria was not evacuated until the morning of January 29. I kept no diary but it is my belief that our departure was on the 28th.It was with a feeling of elation mixed with uncertainty as we left Barrack Block 3 for the last time. The Ritzy Roost had been our home for nearly a year and as prison camps go Belaria was probably better than most. We left behind thousands of cigarettes, gramaphone records and books that we couldn't carry. The Germans must have had a field day looting the barracks —the cigarettes alone would have been worth a bundle on the black market.

It was a cold morning with light snow falling as the column of prisoners poured through the main gate leading to the road to Sagan.Counting the American POWs there were more than a thousand of us heading we knew not where. We soon found that it required four people to pull the heavily laden sled through the snow and we worked out a system to share the load.We divided our group of 12 into three teams of four with each shift hauling the sled for 20 minutes. We maintained this schedule for the next several days.

In less than a hour we arrived at the town of Sagan and the road took us within 200 yards of Centre Compound where I spent my first six months as a kriegie. A bit further along we passed North Compound close to the spot in the pine forest where the tunnel 'Harry" surfaced nine months earlier and from which 76 Air Force prisoners escaped, 50 of whom were later murdered by the Gestapo. We were not guarded by the same band of thugs but in the closing months of the war we wondered what was in the cards for us now that we were not in the relative safety of a prison camp. Along the road we saw remnants of Red Cross parcels strewn about by the marchers ahead of us. In some of the Sagan compounds extra parcels were issued and some kriegies were unable to transport everything they grabbed. Consequently they selected the choice items from each parcel and left the other stuff behind.

We left Sagan and headed into the countryside in a northwesterly direction. Our column stretched nearly a mile along the secondary road on which we were travellling. It was snowing and blowing intermittently. The guards were interspersed throughout the group keeping a watchful eye but otherwise they left us alone. A Luftwaffe Major whom I had not seen before was in charge and had a motorized conveyance of some sort. He was a World War 1 vet with snow white hair and looked like an aristocrat. Not a bad type. Occasionally we stopped for a breather and while resting, munched on a biscuit or snack we had prepared. We needed to keep moving to stay warm since on the road, there was no soup or hot beverage to ward off the chilly daytime temperature (about 10 degrees Fahrenheit). In late afternoon we arrived at the village of Kunau which was to be our stopover for the night. As we entered the village I remember one of the RAF Wing Commanders saying. "Come on chaps, let's pick it up and show these Germans what British officers are made of." Actually we were dragging our derrieres at this stage but we did what we could to put on a good show. The few villagers we passed didn't seem impressed.

The village was really a cluster of houses and barns and we spread out to find whatever accommodation we could. We had to be settled in before dark and there wasn't much time for food. While on the march the Germans had soup and the usual goon bread in the evening and again in the morning. We didn't have time or the means to cook any of the Red Cross food although we ate some Spam and biscuits from the Canadian parcels. That first night I slept in a hay mow and although it was bitterly cold, most of us slept fairly well. We were absolutley bushed having walked about 25 kilometers —actually it seemed much farther. The following morning I had one of the biggest disappointments of my life. I found my American Army blanket was gone — somebody had pinched it. It was a shock to learn that there were thieves in our midst. There were no identifying marks on my blanket so I was stuck with one old grey goon blanket and a wool car robe that mother had sent me. The robe was a life saver and I watched it like a hawk from then on.

The next morning we stirred early and were glad to stomp around to restore some feeling into our frigid feet. We had goon bread and goon coffee plus whatever Al could slap together from our Red Cross supplies. We used this precious food sparingly since we had no idea when there would be more. The second day was a repetition of the first except that it was colder if anything. Around noon the road took us through a large forest and we soon realized that we were passing through a defended area. There were dozens of Wehrmacht troops (army) deployed and one of the famous 88 guns was dug into the riverbank. The soldiers themselves were fine looking types clad in white parkas to make them less conspicuous in the snow. We left the forested area and were soon in the open countryside where we got the full brunt of the winter winds. On the second night we stayed in barns outside the village of Gross Selten (I am indebted to Dave Codd for supplying me with the names of these stopover points in his 1999 Xmas letter —I had long since forgotten them). For me it was the worst night of all. The only place I could find was on the barn flooe under a farm wagon. It was perishingly cold and I don't know how I got any sleep. Even in these grim conditions there were still a few laughs. In the barns it would have been a disaster if there was a fire so it was forbidden to strike a match. When we were settling in for the night somebody trying to find his way in the darkness actually struck a match. A chorus of voices roared, "Put out that light you moron". Some wise guy quipped, "Don't worry they are safety matches".

After the war I learned that those on the march from other camps wee sometimes housed in schools and churches. We were not so fortunate although the Belaria kriegies were fortunate in one way — we were on the march for just one week. My wireless operator Larry Bone and lots of other prisoners were shunted from place to place for much of the winter, sometimes wandering in circles to keep ahead of the advancing armies.

The next day, January 30, was a rest day for us according to Dave Codd's notes.On the follwing day we marched from Gross Selten to Birkenstadt a distance of about 22 kilometers. It always seemed much further but trudging through the deep snow made the kilometers feel like miles. Next day the first of February we marched to Muskau and then on to Granstein a total distance of 23 kilometers. At Muskau the American POWs who had left Belaria with us were separated from our group and their column headed off in another direction to meet other Amercians from the Sagan compounds.By now we had learned that the best accomodation in barns was in a hay mow and to find suitable space, we woud send two of our guys on ahead near the end of the day to stake out a good spot.

I'm a bit hazy on the sequence of events but I remember one incident that occurred near the end of our march. One evening we were in conversation with a German guard (not from Belaria). He spoke some English and we spoke a few phrases of German that related to food. The guard seemed to be a decent type and offered to buy us some white bread in town in exchange for cigarettes. He claimed that he must have the cigarettes in advance in order to get the bread. We handed over a package of cigarettes and off he went. That was in 1945 and it is now 2002 and the guard still hasn't shown up. It's beginning to look as if he isn't coming back. Obviously we were suckers and I have no idea how many others he took.

It had been a tough few days trudging through the snow in the bitterly cold weather with little hot food and only limited shelter at night. It was difficult too for the guards, some of whom were WW1 vets. We didn't have any dropouts in our group and probaly could have kept going for another few days. We were young and buoyed with the optimism of youth and the knowledge that the war in Europe was winding down. We thought we might be overtaken by the Soviet army in a matter of weeks but didn't much relish the thought of being in a major battle zone. The Western Allies were still on the west bank of the Rhine hundreds of miles away.

Next day the weather changed and it became very mild. We remained in the Granstein area for a day in a kind of courtyard and welcomed the rest. We were able to heat some Red Cross food using wooden chips in a tin can with openings on the side. By the following morning the deep snow had become slush and much of it had disappeared. We had no choice but to ditch our sled and make back packs out of our kit bags. Before we left the hay mow that morning, Wing Commander Stanford-Tuck, the Battle of Britain ace, and a Pole named Kustrynski asked us to bury thwm in the hay whch we did. They remained behind and the guards didn't do a thorough check. It's a long story but the two 'stowaways' headed east and after many weeks fighting with guerrilla bands and the Russian Army, found their way to Odess on the Black Sea. From there they were repatriated to England.

February 3 was our last day on the road and this time we were carrying all our earthly belongings. It was tough with the make-shift back packs slogging our way along. I might mention here that my footware throughout the winter was only a pair of leather boots. Before setting out I had smeared the seams and the stiching with a liberal supply of dubbin which was a form of waterproofing grease. It kept out the dampness more or less. Around noon we arrived at the town of Spremberg where we were told there would be a train waiting. We were herded into a large building which was a factory of some sort. It was warm and dry inside and the Germans ladled out barley soup to the throng.It was here that we were joined by a group of kriegies from East Camp including Mike Lewis, whom I hadn't seen since 1938 when he left my home village of Welcome to join the Royal Air Force. Lee Usher, Parky's pilot was one of the others from East Camp whom I recognized.

In mid afternoon we walked to the nearby railway siding and lined up was a string of boxcars. We had heard of this mode of transportation and now we were to find out what it was really like. On the side was stencilled the words (translated from French) "8 horses, 40 men". The cars dated back to WW1 when rail transportastion was sometimes used to move troops and their horses to the front. We clambered aboard with our twelve sticking together. I have no idea now how many were crammed into each car but with our packs plus several guards it was cosy. There was straw on the floor which provided some insulation from the cold. Also we had our great coats and blankets for warmth. The train pulled out before dark but we didn't proceed far. It was a series of starts and stops for the next 24 hours. One of the guards reported that we were being taken to another POW camp but he didn't know where. I slept fairly well through the night — it was no worse than some of the barns we had been in. Next morning the train stopped and we were allowed out to stretch our legs. Somebody got the bright idea that we could get hot water for tea or coffe from the steam locomotive boilers. Whenever the train stopped a stream of kriegies would go up to the front to get our tin mugs filled with hot water. It's a wonder the water supply lasted but the train crew didn't seem to mind. It's amazing what a few cigarettes will do in wartime.

While on the train we worried that there might be aircraft, friendly or otherwise, attracted to the rail line. We had all the appearances of a freight train and the last thing we wanted was to be strafed by fighters while locked inside the boxcars. Fortunately throughout the day it was cloudy which was a break for us. I might mention that on the march during the previous week we saw no air activity due perhaps to the generally foul weather. A friend of mine, Vince Fox, who was in my class at Air Observer's School was killed in an attack by RAF Typhoons while on the march in April 1945. He was one of 28 airmen who lost their lives in that one attack — unfortunately there were other such tragic incidents in the closing months of the war.

It was dark when we arrived at the town of Luckenwalde about 30 miles south of Berlin and on leaving the train, the guards assembled us in a column and we straggled through the streets of the town in semi-darkness.In the steady drizzle we could make out the outline of buildings but not much else. When a sentry tower (goon box) loomed up we knew we had arrived and as we passed through the barb wire gate, the feeling of captivity returned. After a lengthy wait in the rain we were pointed in the direction of one of the huts which was to be our new home. While it was good to get inside we were in for a rude shock. The hut consisted of one large open area with a brick floor that was absolutely filthy and there was no heat whatsoever. The bunks were three tier, double sided and fastened end to end making units of 12. There were straw paillasses and no other bedding so we used the blankets we brought with us. We slept in our clothes as we had done for the last week.