He battalion, known as the 5th Field Artillery Battalion had gone in behind the Rangers who has just secured the beachhead at Algiers on the coast of West Africa. This was November 27, 1942. Twenty eight days later, near Arazoo his group was captured. He was one of the first 11 POWs.
Dad went through a lot to say the least during his captivity. During a transfer to Italy the airfield was bombed by the allies, killing many Germans and American and British prisoners. He was moved to Camp 66 near Rome, Italy.
Camp 66 sounded like hell on earth. Forced to sleep in crowed tents with little blankets, dads feet froze. On Christmas eve that year his mother was told that he was missing in action as was presumed dead. Later she was informed through the Vatican that he was a prisoner.
After Camp 66 came Camp 59, Northern Italy. Waking up in the morning with his sheets red with his own blood caused by lice and other bugs. Some days it started with the removal of fellow prisoners who had died during the night. A bath every two months and very little food rations made it almost unbearable. While American forces invaded Italy, my dad was able to escape along with two others. Hiding out in the Italian farmhouse in the hills for eight days they remained there until they were recaptured by the Germans. From there they were transferred to Stalag III-B in Furstenburg.
Stalag III-B caused more pain and suffering. During that time two others had tried to escape by hiding under a building until they could get out. This angered the Germans who in turn were to execute every 10th man in the line. My dad would have been number 9. Luckily the first British solder told the whereabouts of the prisoners and dad was saved.
If you have ever heard of the railroad box cars called forty-eights, dad was in them. He would tell about the many allied bombings that came ever so close. If the prisoners jump from the cars, they were shot by the Germans. The forty-eights stood for the capacity. Forty people or eight horses. Dads car had sixty POWs in it. During that trip dad was given one cracker and a cup of soup over the four day trip.
From October 1943 until about December 1943 dad was at Stalag III-B then it was onto Camp IV-B. It was extremely cold during the time at Stalag IV-B. It consisted of over 300 men in a barrack with little heat. Wooden shoes he kept on his feet during the many long hours that he was forced outside in below freezing weather. Many times the time spent outside exceeded twelve hours at a stretch.
Sometime in early 1945 dad was shipped to Stalag III-A. Week-long forced marches were a part of the routine. Any prisoner who fell out of line was shot. Dad had swollen knees from loss of water on the kneecap. If not for the help from a few friends who helped him stay standing, dad would have been shot. Daily at Stalag III-A, dad watched the camp next to theirs dump bodies of prisoners who died during the long cold nights.
Later after the war one of his friends who had helped him during the force march was killed by a jeep. I always say a word of thanks to him whenever I think of the forced marches.
Around April of 1945 he was once again moved to another camp. Dad said that there were 800 POWs there in Neubrandenburg during a battle that day. The next day only 98 remained, Dad was one of them. But April 27, 1945 marked the end of his days as a POW when the Americans liberated an area near the Elbe river. Dismissal was on V-J day. He sent mom this telegram on June 6, 1945.
