Excerpt from Chapter 15:
At Dniepropetrovsk trucks and ambulances were
waiting at the station to take us to a makeshift
field hospital for showers, to rid us of the
lice and vermin that had plagued us all the
while and to sort out the chaps destined to die
shortly from those who do it a bit later. After
proper medical examination and assessment I was
again taken to the station and put aboard a
hospital train due to leave some time during the
night. We were still in goods wagons but they
had been properly fitted out with bunks and
there was one medic on each car to look after 12
patients. Our medic gave us the good news that
as far as he knew we were going to Lemberg on
the Polish border. Ah yes, I knew Lemberg; it
was some 380 km closer to civilization and
perhaps 'home'. I remembered it was almost a
year previously that we had passed through
Lemberg on our way east into Russia. There were
six of us in our crew. Now I was on my own, on
the way back.
We left Dniepropetrovsk at dawn the following
morning. The train kept going with very few
stops and we now travelled in comparative
luxury, unlike the previous 14 days through hell
and uncertainty from Mineral'nyye Vody. We
travelled with the sliding doors closed to keep
the cold out and the only light came from two
hurricane lamps dangling from the ceiling,
gently swaying to the movements of the wagon,
and the pot belly stove giving a comfortable
glow. I wasn't interested in the names of
passing stations nor the landscape outside. The
only thing that mattered was the direction the
train was heading, and that was north west.
Every mile was taking us further from that
frozen miserable Russian hell and closer to home
and I hoped I would never have to go back again.
I was living on glucose alone and was growing
thinner.
We reached Fastov, the junction on the main line
from Zhmerinka to Kiev and I remembered that
name. Wasn't that two stations before reaching
Kiev on our way out last year? Ah, but Kiev is
30 km to the north-east, and we were now going
south west towards Vinnitsa. Who wants to see
Kiev anyway? Zhmerinka, Proscurov, Ternopol. We
were travelling on the main line from Odessa to
Lvov (Lemberg) and I remembered the spot just
outside Lemberg where Langhans told us to break
into the supply train. Sad memories of our crew.
Jakob and Ludwig would be 'pushing up' fresh
potatoes next spring, John had rotted away in
the summer heat, without a grave, and Anton with
his leg ripped off. I wondered if he ever made
it home. Hans, Ferdle and Langhans would
probably be freezing and slowly starving to
death on the long march to Siberia, or were they
among the lucky ones who got out from the
Caucasus? I would never know. And there was me,
coming back on this train. Just as well as I
wouldn't have cared much walking all the way to
Siberia, though I wouldn't have had to worry
much about that. Not being able to walk the
Russians would have given me the same treatment
they would have given the Cossack who lay next
to me in the wagon out from Mineral'nyye - a
bullet through the neck, or just let me rot on
the road to nowhere...
Three days later and after travelling some 1400
km from Mineral'nyye we finally reached Lemberg.
We went through the same procedures as in
Dniepropetrovsk - showers, de-lousing, medical
examinations, then were put to bed. Bed! I'd
almost forgotten what that was. Next morning
nurses who came along and replaced our identity
tags with new ones which stated our medical
condition and instructions for treatment. We
were then taken to the station and put on yet
another hospital train bound for Germany. We had
no idea where but that was of no consequence;
anywhere in Germany would be heaven - and home!
The train we were now on was a proper hospital
train, with Red Cross markings. Steam slowly
belched from underneath the carriages - no more
dirty coal heaps and pot bellies. I shared a
compartment with three others. Bunk beds and a
soft mattress, real style, and I hoped the
journey would last a long, long time. It
reminded me of the Orient Express I used to see
going past my home twice a week; all those
'wagon-lits' with people sleeping in them. When
the train pulled out of a station it was smooth
and soft, no jerking and bumping as with our
previous transports, and no more bodies being
thrown out on to the snow. I was enjoying what
to me seemed a normal existence again. I was
still on glucose with some additional fruit
juice but was still happy to eat nothing and was
hoping I would never get better again, though I
did feel a little better and was even able to
totter without help to the toilet, to pass what
looked like high-quality vintage burgundy!
Had it not been for the misery and suffering
aboard it could have been an enjoyable journey
as we were passing through some of eastern
Europe's most beautiful scenery. We crossed the
Polish border and the San river at Przemysl and
on to Jaroslow, Tarnow and pulled into Krakow
early in the morning. We had a short stop there
and a quick visit from the medical CO and two
nurses, inquiring about our well-being. Ah, that
was the way to live and I hoped I would not
recover too soon. The serving of breakfast
wasn't much of a problem in our compartment as
all four occupants suffered from the same
affliction so it was simply glucose and fruit
juice. One of the nurses told us we were going
into Austria and she was quite excited as she
came from somewhere near Salzburg.
We crossed into Czechoslovakia, with the
Sudetenland to our right and the Carpathian
mountains on our left. Our train seemed to have
priority over other traffic and we had very few
stops, mostly to change the engine. We crossed
into Austria during the night and arrived in
Vienna early in the morning. I woke up too late
and was sorry to have missed crossing the
Danube. From Wien we journeyed on to St Polten,
Amstellen, then Linz. Ah there she was! The
Danube came into view to our right and the
snow-capped Austrian alps welcomed us on our
left. At Linz our train was split into three
sections, and ours was going to Salzburg. We
were side-tracked at Attnang-Puchheim on to the
Bad Ischel line and reached Gmunden am Traunsee,
our final destination at midday.and some 2500 km
rail travel in between from when I was thrown on
to the coal heap in Mineral'nyye Vody.
What a picturesque postcard setting it was, on
the shore of the lake, surrounded by steep snow
covered mountains, and as our train pulled into
the station the assembled brass band on the
platform played tunes from 'Geschichten von Dem
Wiener Wald' (Tales from the Vienna Woods).
Ambulances and Red Cross teams and horse drawn
sledges were waiting on the platform to get into
action. Unloading the train was carried out in
an efficient and systematic manner and one could
tell they had done it many times before. The
seriously wounded cases were put into the
ambulances while the rest were made comfortable
on the sledges, softly padded with plenty of
blankets to keep out the cold.
Off we went on that cold, sunny winter's
afternoon through the town, past lines of
welcoming crowds, mostly school children, women
and a few oldies with a fair sprinkling of
patients from the various hospitals in town on
their day out, usually supported by crutches and
arm slings. I listened to the harsh crackling
sound of the sledge skis, the muted 'clop-clop'
of the horse's hooves on the snow and the
tinkling of the bells around their necks as we
were taken to our new 'home'.
Gmunden was a proper hospital town, with red
crosses showing from the roofs of every spa
hotel, converted into a Lazarett (military
hospital). Come to think of it, a bloody savage
war and being sick as a dog had some advantages
after all, as I would never have got anywhere
near such a place in peacetime, not on my eight
marks weekly wage. The ride through town took
about twenty minutes before we came to a halt in
the courtyard of a rather elegant looking spa
hotel, or maybe a sort of sanatorium, run by a
religious Catholic order as there were lots of
nuns about, dressed in white habits. They
quickly dug us out from the blankets and led us
into a large room filled with rows of bath tubs,
where we were told to get undressed and into
them.
What absolute luxury - a hot bath and good
smelling soap, and the nuns gliding up and down
the aisles giving advice and a helping hand
where needed, causing some embarrassing moments
here and there, completely ignored by the nuns.
After the bath and clad in a neck to floor white
woolen nightshirt which made us look almost like
nuns, we were taken via the lift to the top
floor to our rooms and put into bed. The nuns
made sure we were properly tucked in and assured
us they would do their best to have us back to
health in a very short time. Actually I thought
they needn't be in such a hurry; I was sure I
could have stuck it there for the rest of the
war.
I shared a room with a Wachtmeister from the
artillery and a Obergefreiter (corporal) from
the infantry, and all three of us looked the
same. Yellow skin and yellow/red eyes. "What a
way to finish the war" said the corporal, making
himself comfortable in bed,and enjoying the view
from our top floor window which looked straight
out to the mountains opposite the Traunsee
below. But the Wachtmeister reminded us that we
were only too lucky to get this far back from
the front and we would be out in the 'shit'
again as soon as they got some fat put back on
us. He said it was only thanks to the retreating
German army in the south of Russia that we'd got
this close to home, and added, "We could be
recovering in some rotten field hospital in
Pyatygorsk or maybe with a bit more luck in
Rostov, or Stalino". He was right, of course,
and our spirits dived a bit.
Apart from glucose we got nothing else the first
evening as we were to have blood tests in the
morning after which we would be on a strict
diet. Actually the diet was good: white Vienna
buns with honey in the morning, chicken and rice
for lunch, and milk pudding for supper, as much
as we could eat - which wasn't much for the
first few days, unfortunately. It was now the
beginning of February (43) and we heard that all
fighting in Stalingrad had ceased. Field Marshal
von Paulus' Sixth Army, or what was left of it,
had surrendered. Slow death in Siberia. Of the
91000 prisoners taken at Stalingrad, only a
handful saw Germany again. During the fighting
147,200 Germans were killed, together with some
46,700 Russians, plus 60,000 in Manstein's
effort to keep the Rostov corridor open together
with 50,000, Russian death and the three of us
in our room knew we could have been among those
statistics.
Our stay in Gmunden was very pleasant indeed.
The nuns and nurses did their best to make us
comfortable and almost feel at home. The time
passed only too quickly and our health improved
with alarming speed and we realized our days in
the lazarett were coming to an end. The prospect
of being sent back to the front was looming,
with frightening reality. In the middle of the
third week more transports came in in close
succession and another one was expected the
following Monday, all casualties from the Don
battle, so beds had to be made available for the
new arrivals and towards the end of the week our
worst fears were confirmed. We were told our
health had been sufficiently restored and we
would be discharged the following Monday.
Permission was given for us to go into town the
next afternoon for two hours only - to get us
conditioned to the outside world again, I
suppose. The Wachtmeister and I were game enough
to risk it but the Obergefreiter decided to make
the most of his day and remained in bed. Thanks
to the nuns our uniforms had been cleaned and
restored to a reasonable shape, but the boots
needed a bit of attention. We collected our
leave passes and set off. Two hours was quite a
long outing considering the longest walk of the
day had been to the dining room and back. A cold
breeze hit us the moment we sniffed outside,
almost making us turn back, but we decided to
brave it and go down to the lake for a quick
look around the promenade. At that time of the
year it was deserted. Well, almost.
Two girls were sitting on one of the benches,
well wrapped in fur coats and matching fur hats.
Pretty classy, they looked, breath-taking
really! One of them had her handkerchief to her
eye and the other was trying to comfort her so
we surmised tragedy had struck and we would
offer our condolences. But thank goodness that
wasn't necessary, she was only trying to remove
a foreign body from her eye. Anyhow, we offered
our assistance but had a bit of communication
difficulty as their German was a little
fractured. They told us they came from Finland
and belonged to an entertainment troop touring
the hospitals, singing and dancing. They said
our hospital was on their itinerary for Saturday
afternoon so we said we wouldn't miss it. We
returned to the hospital, exhausted from the
walk up hill. Next day after lunch volunteers
were needed to get the dining room ready for the
concert so since I was practically struck from
the sick list I offered to help and my mate the
Wachtmeister didn't need any prodding either.
It was quite a good show and the girl we had
tried to help at the lake was introduced to the
audience as the daughter of the then Prime
Minister of Finland, "Terbowen" or something
like it; I can't remember any more. I sat in the
third row and every time she looked my way I
made some feeble attempt to get her attention.
She had spotted me all right and at the end of
the performance she got off the stage, headed
straight for me and gave me a kiss right in
front of the whole audience. Marvellous, I
thought what a kiss like that did for my heath.
When I'd arrived at the lazaret I could easily
have been mistaken for a yellow skinned Chinaman
and now after that unexpected kiss I looked more
like an over-ripe tomato, a picture of perfect
health! As expected, I got my marching orders on
Monday.
Fronting up at the office that Monday morning
was a sad affair, to say the least. I was handed
a large sealed envelope which I presumed
contained my medical report and recommended
treatment and was told to report to the Office
of the Military Command in Vienna for further
instructions. I said good-bye to the nuns and
sisters and a sledge waited outside to take me
and a few other 'unfortunates' to the station.
One couldn't help thinking about those 'lucky'
ones we had left behind hobbling on crutches
with a foot or leg missing. They would never
have to go to Wien for 'further military
instructions'.
I didn't see much of Wien on that occasion. The
'chain/dogs' got hold of us on the station and
directed us to join the queue at the station
commander's office were we were checked out and
issued with new marching orders and a day's food
ration. From Wien I was sent to Augsburg to join
a flak reserve Abteilung (stand-by unit) and
hopefully then on home leave.
The barracks in Augsburg were more or less a
transit centre from where replacements for the
front were made. It was late in the evening when
I reported in to the duty officer. I was told to
find myself an empty bunk and report in the
morning for medical and further processing. I
made sure the straw sack I chose looked vacant
as I didn't want to risk being turfed out in the
middle of the night by anybody claiming prior
possession. There would have been ten to fifteen
of us in the room, and we all had one thing in
common, miserable faces. I chewed on some stale
salami issued in Wien and reflected on the
lovely chicken food we'd had in Gmunden, then
fell asleep.
I knew things were back to the old routine when
the U V D's whistle blew in the morning,
announcing coffee could be fetched from the
kitchen, and being the newest arrival I was told
by my slumbering companions to get up and get
the brew. Reluctantly I obliged and as I put it
on the table I told them that the next time they
could get that horrible dish water themselves as
I was going home on my well-earned leave. "What
the hell do you want to do that for?" one asked.
He had had a rotten leave in Dusseldorf,
spending half his time in the air raid shelters
and the other half looking for his parents,
constantly showing his papers to the patrolling
military police to prove his presence in town
was legitimate. He didn't find his parents and
the street they used to live in was all rubble.
He spoke bitterly and cynically and it didn't
matter to him any more when they sent him 'out
there' again. "We will all be dead before this
bloody war is over," he said. "And the sooner
they get rid of Adolf the better it will be for
Germany," he kept on raving. I realized 'out
there' could be anywhere. It certainly wouldn't
be with my old unit; there was nothing left of
it. Somebody reminded the fellow to keep his
voice down a bit or he could very well never get
'out there' at all...
As soon as the office opened I presented,
together with the large envelope, which nobody
took any notice of and I suspect was consigned
to the waste basket. All they asked was what
town I wanted to spend my leave in and whether I
intended to wear civilian clothes, which I
considered an odd question as I thought I could
surely wear what I liked when at home. But no.
It had to be specifically written in my papers
as it was an offence for a soldier to wear
civvies without permission and should I be
caught wearing anything but my uniform, leave
would be cancelled immediately, so I was told.
They mentioned something about penal units, and
booby-trapped bomb defusing and so on so I
judged they were having fun with me. Or were
they? I was issued ration cards and leave
papers, duly signed and stamped, and dated from
midnight that day to midnight 20 days later and
ordered to go to the quartermaster and get a
decent uniform as I was a disgrace to the German
Army! They didn't tell me that in Mineral'nyye
Vody when they threw me on the coal heap, I
couldn't help thinking.
After being inspected and getting permission to
leave I was anxious to get going so took the
trolley bus to the station just in time to see
the train from Munich arriving. Luck was with me
I thought, as I would get a connection from
Gunzburg to Krumbach and could be knocking on
Mother's door in about three hours. But bloody
luck wasn't with me. The military police at the
gates, after looking at my papers informed me I
couldn't get on the train as my leave didn't
begin before midnight! So much for my early get
away. Then I remembered from my working days in
Augsburg as apprentice where the bus station was
which served the rural districts and I knew a
bus for Krumbach left in the afternoon, at least
it did then, perhaps not now any more? I raced
over to the depot and was in luck. The buses
still ran and since they were part of the rail
system my papers entitled me to use it. This
time no military police were present and the
driver wasn't interested whether my leave
started today, any other day or not at all so I
hopped on and arrived in Krumbach a little after
10 pm.
Mum had been expecting me for some days as I had
written from Gmunden and she was very pleased to
see me. She was very lonely, with Father away
with the railways in France and my brother Willi
somewhere out there in Russia. She had recently
received a letter from him written weeks
previously from around Voronezh but I hoped he
wouldn't be there any more as Voronesh had been
taken by the Russians two days after I got into
Dniepropetrovsk.
Mum told me that Dad had had two weeks leave at
Christmas. She still had a nice bottle of brandy
hidden away at the back of the cupboard so we
had a few swigs together just to wash down the
taste of Ersatz coffee. She cautioned me not to
mention the brandy to the 'gold pheasant',
meaning Kreisleiter Morgenroth (district Party
leader) who still lived comfortably in the
downstairs flat. 'Gold pheasant' was the
nickname for high-up uniformed Party officials.
Mum said having him living in the same building
had its advantages as his wife sometimes came up
with a few leftovers from their table. It seemed
they still lived pretty well, no doubt with the
help of bribes from some of his farmer mates he
went deer shooting with. He always liked
shooting and must have been 'heartbroken' that
Party business prevented him from joining the
Army.
Next morning I rang his front door bell to pay
him a courtesy call and the bell was answered by
the maid. Good God! There couldn't be many of
them around any more, surely? She told me the
Herr Kreisleiter already knew I was home;
(probably watched me coming in last night). He
was quite pleasant and greeted me with all his
charm, offering coffee (real) and Schnapps, more
bribes, no doubt and told me how proud everyone
at home was of us out there fighting for our
beloved Fuhrer and upcoming victory. Really! And
when I told him we had just lost half a million
men, retreating from the Caucasus and at
Stalingrad he gave me the spiel that sacrifices
had to be made by all to ensure ultimate
victory, which sounded like he included himself
in that sacrificial group. He assured me that
those at home, meaning himself and the Party
were doing their best to see that nobody went
hungry or suffered from the cold and that every
possible effort was made to keep the front line
troops well supplied and in good spirits, as the
old Party slogan said:
'Keiner soll hungern oder zu frieren' (Nobody
shall go hungry or suffer from cold) which was
quickly changed by the jokers, not friends of
the Party, into; ' Keiner soll hungern OHNE zu
frieren'
(Nobody shall go hungry without freezing as
well).
The Schnapps was an excellent brew so I handed
him my empty glass for a refill which I downed
with his good health in mind and politely made
my exit. When I permitted myself some optimism I
fancied I would wear civilian clothes again so I
put on my Sunday best to go for a walk into
town. It wasn't a very good idea as it only
earned me suspicious looks, mostly from women
who, no doubt, thought a young fellow like me
should be in the Army like their husbands or
sons, not idling around town. They had a good
point. There were also patients from Bad Krumbad
military hospital on their day outing in town
and they didn't look too kindly at me,
especially those hobbling along on crutches, or
with empty sleeves in their tunics, their
missing limbs rotting away somewhere on Russian
soil. I never wore civvies again for the rest of
my leave.
I visited my old workshop and Josef Kaiser, my
former boss, was still there but I didn't know
any of his employees. Josef wasn't making
furniture anymore. He'd had to convert to the
war effort and was making boxes, boxes for
ammunition by the look of them. I didn't go into
town again as most of the people I had known
before were gone. My friend Anderl from next
door had gone for good...He'd 'swallowed' a
bullet somewhere in Russia, so he too would be
pushing up potatoes in the coming spring.
Once or twice I went grocery shopping with
Mother. Not exactly a case of getting a hernia
carrying the stuff home. Not much available,
even with the issued stamps, but my rations were
double the quantity of those for civilians and
with a couple of 'Juno's' or 'Salem' cigarettes
thrown into the purchase, one could add a few
grams to the meat ration. But it was risky
business and if caught would shorten the
life-span of both buyer and seller.
My leave came to an end much too soon and the
uncertainty of not knowing where I would be sent
once back at the garrison didn't give me much
relaxation for the last couple of days at home.
No good hoping for a comfortable home posting,
such as one of the flak positions around
Augsburg or Munich. One would have to be minus
an arm or leg to be that lucky. Alas, I still
had all mine...
I chose to return to Augsburg by train as it
would take a bit longer that way and I wasn't at
all in a hurry. Mum came to the station with me
and burst into tears as we said good-bye. I
wished she hadn't done that, as it nearly made
me cry too and I was glad when the train pulled
out and hoped the engine would slow down or have
a little breakdown so that I would miss my
connection at Gunzburg. Nothing happened, of
course, and I was back in Augsburg by the
evening. I made my way to the barracks, enjoying
the last few steps in freedom before passing
through the gate.
The room was the same, just different faces. My
old bunk had been taken but I found an empty
one, wrote a quick letter to Mum telling her I
was safely 'locked up' again, and went to sleep.
The next morning after having gone through the
office routine I was assigned to a convalescent
reserve battery on standby for front
replacements. There was little to do and I spent
most of the time peeling potatoes, followed by a
bit of drill, just to keep in training, and
plenty of 'Putz und Flickstunde' (cleaning and
mending). The most important walk was to the
notice board to see whether your name had been
added to the ones already there. In the back of
the mind you always hoped that by some fluke
they had lost your name but you could always
tell from the expression on the faces whose name
had come up and whose hadn't.
It took exactly three days to have my name
pinned on the board, not the best way to
brighten up the day. It was now the middle of
March (43). The usual visit to the
quartermaster's store followed, to be issued
with rifle, steel helmet, ammunition belt and
all the rest a fellow needs to have his stay
'out there' made as miserable as it possibly can
be, plus a new camouflage battle dress - white
on one side and brown, green and black mottled
on the other - which left no doubt where our
destination would be. Three days salami rations,
a loaf of Kommiss in the provision bag and our
travel orders tucked away in our pockets, and
four of us found ourselves on the train bound
for Nurnberg and on to Breslau and once again
'out there' to the Eastern Front - the journey I
hoped I would never have to make again...