Excerpt from Chapter 6:

At home much had changed since my last leave. Father had been called up to serve with the railway in France, so Mother was left on her own and naturally was pleased to see me return. She hadn't heard from my brother for quite a while and was worried. Every day she watched for mail only to be disappointed when the horses trotted past. In those days mail was delivered in style; in Krumbach anyhow. A liveried postilion, complete with top hat and bugle rode atop a two horse-drawn ornamental coach with 'Deutsche Reichspost' insignia on the sides. The horses had bow-tied ribbons in their plaited tails and two posties delivered mail from the back of the coach. Very eye-catching, but it didn't do much for Mum.

I started work again with my old firm but only for about four weeks as by the end of August my marching orders arrived. My friend Anderl who also had returned from Arbeitsdienst duty received his orders at the same time though his destination was different from mine, so we said goodbye, and that was the last time I saw him. He was killed in 1943 on the Eastern front.

I packed my suitcases, said farewell to Mum and Krumbach generally, and boarded the train headed for Friedrichshafen am Bodensee, my new training base. It was the beginning of September 41, summer was coming to an end and all the trees were turning to their autumn shades. The closer we got to our destination the more recruits joined the train and by the time we arrived in the afternoon there were quite a lot of we potential soldiers lazing around the promenade, watching the harbor activities and enjoying the last afternoon of freedom in the autumn sunshine.

We were quickly brought back to reality by the roar of a Oberwachtmeister of the Flakabteilung from the barracks up on the hill telling us we 'stinking lazy pigs' had no right to be sitting around wasting the Fatherland's precious time in such an unproductive manner. He told us to be on our way at once up to the barracks, quick march, where he would personally make sure we received special treatment, and would feel sorry we'd ever been born. Quite a valid point, really, but how did he know we were new recruits? Must have been the suitcases and the miserable looks on our faces. We made some feeble attempt to point out that our deadline to pass through the gate was midnight. However, he made it clear that the moment we received our call-up papers we were under the jurisdiction of the armed forces and he considered himself the upholder of military discipline, so his orders were final. Any more backchat and he would make us crawl on our bellies all the way up to the barracks. Some of the brighter brains decided it was far easier to walk than wear out the stomach, so off we went, not daring to look back in case the Oberwachtmeister changed his mind.

It was quite a long walk from the harbor. On our way and looking to the right, we passed the huge double hangars which were used to house the pride of German air technology, the LZ/127 and LZ/129, the 'Graf Zeppelin' and the 'Hindenburg'. This brought back memories of my boyhood when I visited Friedrichshafen with my parents and the hangar was open for the public to be taken on board the brand new LZ/129 'Hindenburg' for inspection just before it took off on its maiden voyage to America. This was the same airship that burst into flames some trips later, on 7 May 1937, on the mooring mast at Lakehurst, USA, with the loss of most of its passengers and crew. There has been much speculation on the cause of the disaster, and sabotage wasn't entirely ruled out. The hangars were now empty and the roofline was filled with anti-aircraft gun installations.

We reached the barracks complex, an assortment of two storey brick and concrete buildings surrounded by wire fencing 1.8m high, topped with coils of barbs. Some bright sparks joked about it and said it was meant to keep people out but I thought it was really meant to keep us in. Once through the gate we were told to put our suitcases on one side of the access road and line up in marching order on the other, and there we waited for enough recruits to come through the gate to make up battery strength. This was an artillery barracks and therefore the unit was called 'Abteilung' instead of Battalion. Equivalent to a Company was the Battery and similarly what would have passed in the Infantry as 'Feldwebel' (Sergeant) was called a 'Wachtmeister' in this outfit.

Whilst we waited there were what appeared to be training personnel standing around observing us, concentrated intelligence oozing from their faces, though some of their remarks weren't exactly flattering, to say the least. To them we were nothing but a disgusting, undisciplined, untrainable heap of human residue the recruiting authority had the nerve to send them. They probably regarded themselves as martyrs to the Fatherland for having been chosen for the impossible task of training us into useful soldiers.

It wasn't very long before our 'disgusting' heap had grown into battery strength and we were marched away in the direction of the living quarters, flanked by trainer escorts, like dogs hustling a flock of sheep to the cattle yard. We halted on the square in front of the main building and retrieved our suitcases from the heap the truck driver had thrown them into, even splitting some open, and after some time were allocated living quarters on the first floor, which was just one long corridor with 'Stuben' (rooms) along one side and rifle racks lining the other. The room contained double bunks, the usual straw sacks, wardrobes (shared), a table with stools. Eight of us were shoved into a room to battle it out who slept where, then it was off to the Quartermaster's store to collect our gear.

Proceedings were similar to that in the Arbeitsdienst except the items weren't handed out in a civilized manner, but thrown at us, with no bother about size or fit. A bowl of hot soup wrapped up the day and we all hit the straw sack wondering what the next days would have in store. At 6 a.m. we were rudely woken by the 'U.V.D' - Unteroffizier vom Dienst (duty officer), by his whistle and his screaming at the top of his voice something like it was time to get up, as in his view sleep wasn't necessary, a waste of time and if we hadn't gone to sleep last night he wouldn't have to go through the trouble of waking us up. We agreed it sounded logical, but very dry army humor one could hardly call it witty, not that early in the morning any way. Two men assigned to room duty stood by waiting for the U V D's second whistle, ready to run to the kitchen to collect a bucket of black coffee, 4 loaves of 'Komiss' (black bread) and some jam. Since breakfast was as stale as the duty officer's joke it didn't matter whether it was eaten between having a shave or a shower, as long as the whole outfit was ready for the 7 o'clock call on the parade ground, executed by the Hauptwachtmeister, perhaps better known as the Battery 'Mother' since he was responsible for the everyday smooth running of the outfit. After roll-call we were presented to our Battery Commander a Oberleutnant who in turn introduced us to the Commander of the Abteilung, a Major. He made a moving speech of welcome, emphasising discipline, carrying out orders without question, and even being prepared to die for 'Fuhrer, Volk and Fatherland' if necessary. He did it so convincingly; how lucky can one be to have that privilege, we almost believed him. The rest of the morning was taken up with the usual fitting out and general cleaning chores. Cleaning turned out to be an obsession in the Army and you could never do enough of it for the U V D, or any other scrutineer. In their view our Stuben (rooms) were filthier than pigstys so we grew used to being called Drecks„ue.

In the afternoon we reported to the armory to be issued with rifle and side arms. Rifles were housed in a rack in the corridor with one's name attached, a cunning arrangement since when hands were required to perform duties like peeling potatoes, cleaning toilets, anything nasty, all the U V D did was walk along the corridor, pick up a rifle from the rack, read off the name and then accuse the owner of negligence in looking after his 'Bride' and off he had to go to his assignment. The rifle was called 'deine Braut' (your bride) as they maintained once you were out in the field you were married to it and for the rest of your army life it will be the closest thing to you. And damn right they were.

Following a hair cut and a few trips to the quartermaster's store once again the suitcases were packed with our civilian clothes ready to be sent home. Our instructor said "You will never wear them again". It was meant to be a joke but turned out to be true for quite a few of us.

Final roll-call was 6 p.m. followed by evening meal at seven, and the rest of the evening was cleaning and mending. There was never a free period or off duty so any leave into town seemed non existent. We were prisoners of the barracks for almost the duration of our training. At 10 p.m. all rooms had to be ready for inspection by the U V D with everyone standing to attention by his bed and should the scrutineer's eyes detect some imaginary dust on top of a wardrobe, or some clothes not folded to regulation style all hell broke loose. The punishment was being made to hop up and down the corridor, kangaroo fashion, with a stool in outstretched hands, just to make sure you do a better job the next evening.

Although lights went out at 10.30 p.m. sleep was by no means certain. The whistle could blow any time during the night and we would have to get dressed in full battle gear and line up on the parade ground, all within 5 minutes and in complete darkness! Once that was over and we were back on the strawsack was no guarantee the same thing couldn't be repeated a couple of hours later. Getting dressed in darkness wasn't a problem as all items were neatly folded in dressing sequence on the bedside stool but if someone decided to add some fun by changing the order on your stool not only did that upset the temper, it also made you late on the parade ground, thus earmarking you for some unsavoury special duty the next day. Those disrupted nights were part of our training in anti aircraft gunnery.

The parade ground was lined on three sides by large halls housing trucks, guns and machinery which were to be our tools for the next two months. We soon got absorbed in hard, routine training which almost made machines of us. The day usually began with a lecture from 7-8 a.m. which could be about anything from ballistics to the disciplinary system within the armed forces, trench warfare or simply ways to avoid getting killed! Some lectures were more interesting than other. Some just made the eye-lids drop though if noticed one could be sure more chores, such as potato peeling or cleaning toilets, were added to the already overloaded daily routine.

Later came two hours' foot drill and a few runs through an obstacle course which left you feeling like a jellybean but happy to have survived another morning, only to discover more punishment was ahead if when marching back to quarters a request for a song wasn't immediately complied with. Then it was either back to the obstacle course or - not an uncommon event - one saw a whole battery of men with rifles in outstretched hands hopping kangaroo fashion towards the living quarters with the usual encouragement like, "keep hopping, you pigs until the water boils in your arse". Our trainers were never short of such 'dubious humorous' expressions and after a few of those 'breath taking'episodes we discovered all that could be avoided by agreeing on the song before we went out in the morning.

Back at the barracks there were more lectures, studying guns and armaments, theory of ballistics and recognizing British and Russian aircraft in flight. After lunch the entire afternoon was always taken up with gun training. This was quite hard physically as the guns were heavy and had to be moved by manpower after unhooking from the personnel carrier. We were grouped into crews of five to each gun. Our mentors worked on us day after day, drilling us in such a way that everyone could do his part like clockwork in every situation. Battle situations were simulated, where one after another of the crew would drop out and the last member left had to be able to work the gun himself by stopwatch rules. Quite often we were hauled out of bed in the middle of an overcast or moon-less night to work the guns in complete darkness and by feel only. We gradually became more and more competent in handling our equipment and even our tormentors had to admit that the heap of idiots put in their charge were not so brainless after all.

As time progressed we were allowed to show ourselves in town on Saturday afternoons and Sundays, which actually was more of an ordeal than pleasure. First there was a lecture on the proper conduct once out of the 'cage'- if one managed to get past the Officer of the Guard. A missing handkerchief or even a nail from the sole of a boot was enough reason to be sent back for a weekend's kitchen duty. Quite often it was a wasted effort since by the time we reached the shore of the lake it was almost time for the return walk up the hill. Sundays were a little better as it was a full day out allowing a little more scope for recreation though unfortunately it meant missing the midday meal.

We liked to go on the steamers for a trip to Bregenz or Konstanz. The latter was a fascinating town, with one half in Germany and the other in Switzerland and at night half the place was blacked out and the other brightly lit up; an excellent orientation marker for bombers coming in at night trying to destroy the Dornier aircraft factory outside Friedrichshafen. Luckily they never found the plant, not during our stay there, anyhow, as a replica of the works was built some 10 km away, towards the Swiss border. Actually on one raid the bombers accidentally dropped a few on Swiss soil. Did something go wrong with the electricity distribution that night and the Swiss part of Konstanz put in the dark and the German side lit up? That would have caused some red faces in High Wycombe...

One Sunday morning after a stormy Saturday night which left the lake angry with mountainous waves, three of us decided to take a ticket on the regular morning boat to Bregenz. We got some surprised looks from the ticket office who jokingly asked us whether we knew what we were doing. We thought we might be the only passengers on the morning run but there were a few others and even if the boat had been empty it would still have left as the shipping was run by the German railway and all the boats ran to a schedule. All was well while we were still in the sheltered harbor but as soon as we passed the enclosure and were out on the open lake we wished we'd never gone aboard. It wasn't fear - the boats were fairly large and built to ride big waves - but sea sickness that got me and I quickly lost my breakfast. The only comfort was seeing my mates also suffering. It took 2 1/2 hours to reach Bregenz and although it wasn't a great loss to spew up what we'd eaten in the morning we were still too sick to go anywhere when we set foot on firm ground again. We just sat on a bench by the harbor, miserably waiting for the return boat to Friedrichshafen. Luckily the weather improved a little but we were a sorry-looking lot as we crept back to our quarters, still too sick to eat. A little rest on the straw sacks did wonders but it was not too healthy to be found resting during 'leisure' time because our tormentors would soon find a job to be done, like cleaning their rooms or polishing their boots.

A lucky break came my way when I was detailed to do the Hauptwachtmeister's cleaning which was considered a privileged job since one could then dodge the toilet cleaning or potato peeling, pretending to be doing something for him. However, it nearly got me into trouble when I was asked one Friday morning by the Spiess (Hauptwachtmeister) to mend a puncture in his bicycle which was in the basement. I had been down there previously and had seen what was there. It was full bicycles, most of them belonging to the instructors and officers. I was not feeling really keen for a great mending operation but seeing all those velos neatly parked in rows gave me a sudden inspiration. I asked a couple of friends to give me a hand for the quick job I had in mind. We posted one of them on the stairs to warn if anybody approached while two of us tackled bike. Quite simple, really. We chose a bike of the same make, took off a wheel and swapped it for the Hauptwachtmeister's flat tyre. Quick work, no trouble and I reported back to him "order executed as requested". I must say he looked a little surprised that it hadn't taken me very long and mumbled something to the effect he was amazed the army had actually succeeded in teaching me something useful after all.

However, Monday morning came, with a special roll-call at the request of the Commandant during which we were informed that during the weekend a serious offence had been committed requiring severe disciplinary action, namely, a bicycle had been 'interfered' with. Its front wheel had been stolen and replaced with a damaged one and an inquiry would be conducted and the offender would be brought to military justice as the bicycle in question belonged to the Commanding Officer. All this was read out to us by the Hauptmachtmeister who was blissfully unaware that the stolen item was actually in his possession. He did find out eventually but the Commanding Officer didn't, so, apart from cleaning out Spiess's office more often than was needed, no other punishment was meted out to me as presumably he didn't want to risk my blowing the whistle on him. And no doubt the last thing he wanted was to lose his new wheel!

>As the weeks passed we became more proficient in our training and I managed to get a weekend leave pass at the beginning of December (41). The last few weeks in Friedrichshafen were very busy preparing for the passing out and oath-taking ritual and practising the ceremonial goose- stepping and presenting arms. Finally the day came when we were all on the parade ground in our best grooming for an intense last inspection by the Hauptmachtmeister. We mustered in perfect parade formation in front of the reviewing General and all the top brass then stood to attention with arms presented for the general's scrutiny. This was followed by the oath taking ceremony - touching the German flag and swearing we would carry out unquestionably all given orders and be prepared to die for 'Fuhrer Volk und Vaterland' if the need arose. This was followed with a speech by the General telling us what a fine body of men we were trained into and how proud we should be to serve the Army and protect the Fatherland from our enemies. I guess we were proud then of what we had achieved in such short time, and after all, we were only 19. We had not been asked but were all conscripted and it was our patriotic duty. I was proud then, and looking back over the past years of my war experience and subsequent incarceration in American and French prison camps I can't think of any reason to be ashamed of defending my country.

That afternoon we were free to go into town. Our regular mentors, Unterroffizier Mesner and Obergefreiter Pohl his assistant, suggested we go out together to celebrate. We agreed and off we went to a little village outside Friedrichshafen which was well known for its excellent drop of new cider. Friedrichshafen is an apple growing district, therefore cider was the drink to have. We had quite a good time, and as the evening progressed, more groups came along with their instructors and we all got a bit top heavy from too much cider. The instructors made speeches saying how unlucky they were that they had to stay in Friedrichshafen and how dearly they would prefer to go with us out into the field. A heap of bull dung that was; they were all worried stiff that one day they probably would have to go. As we had to pass through the gate before midnight we were on our way by eleven, though with a little difficulty. Anyhow, our instructors put on a good show applying the 'barrack's drill method' with some torturous push-ups so we soon sobered up sufficiently to pass through with little suspicion.

The next two days we were busy getting ready to leave Friedrichshafen for an unknown destination and midday on the third day we passed through the gates for the last time on our way to the station to board the train and pulled out as darkness fell. We had been issued with provisions for two days only so guessed we weren't going very far; still somewhere in Germany, maybe for some more training, we thought.

After a bite or two of salami and black bread we settled down for the night as we rolled along the track in a northerly direction. We tried to sleep but could only doze for a few minutes because of the hard wooden benches and crowded conditions. Then we were shunted back and forth so much we lost all sense of direction but when daylight broke we were able to make out a few stations, Mannheim being one, so knew roughly where we were heading and by mid-morning we pulled into Koblenz. Leaving the train there we marched down to the Rhine, crossed over the river and then were faced with a slow, tiring climb up hill, weighed down with heavy rucksack, rifle and all the rest of the gear until we finally reached our new home, the old fortress of Ehrenbreitstein on top of the embankment overlooking the rivers and the Deutsche Eck (Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial), where the Moselle flows into the Rhine.

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