John Stieber - Against the Odds - Survival on the Russian Front 1944-1945 [2nd Edition]

I picked up my violin in Mücheln and Heinz Heinelt fetched the twins’ violins in Greifswald – then practising began in earnest. Jablonski had meanwhile managed to get sheet music, which cannot have been easy. We were only interested in serious music and suitable scoring for our combination would have been unusual. Jablonski turned out to be an eager musician and used to get quite carried away. What his playing lacked in accuracy, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. On a number of occasions I had to laud our trumpeter’s sense of priorities when he got the twins and me excused from our duties so that we could play the music of Mozart, Bach or Haydn.

Leading a healthy life, having good friends and playing music all gave me great satisfaction, especially since there was not an excessive amount of military drill. The food seemed to be especially good – certainly much better than it had been in the FLAK battery.

One day I got word that I was to go to Danzig and attend an interview for the Division Göring. When I reported to the recruiting centre, I was given a thorough medical examination and then was asked the usual questions about illnesses in my family. After that there was an oral test, which included some simple maths and questions obviously intended to establish my IQ. The whole matter took about half-an-hour, but I unfortunately did not have time to explore the historic Hanse town so well-known for its beautiful old buildings.

I had been back from Danzig only a few days when a serious epidemic of diphtheria broke out. Many of us went down with a severe infection and the small sick ward was crowded. All leave was cancelled and we had to remain in quarantine for three weeks before the camp was finally given a clean bill of health. Sadly, one of the men died and it was touch and go with several others. I remember visiting the man not long before his death, to chat and try to take his mind off his suffering. Standing well away from him, I was shocked to see his throat, as if ready to burst, ballooning beyond his chin with a bluish transparency – already he must have been near to asphyxiation.

Life in the camp gradually returned to normal. Luckily, the Heinelts and Jablonski escaped infection and our music-making continued uninterrupted. The twins and I often walked in the woods during our free time, talking about life and our families. Heinz and Günther loved to quote from the writings of Goethe and Schiller. They were romantics at heart and seemed to come under a spell as they recited, walking slowly, their minds occupied on a higher plane.

I had been in the camp for just over two months when I heard that the Division Göring had accepted me. The date of my conscription was 1 May, 1944, just three weeks away. I was to be allowed a few days off before reporting for duty at the division’s main training establishment in Utrecht, about thirty miles south-east of Amsterdam in Holland. Naturally, I was sad to be exchanging a happy and safe environment for the grim uncertainty of life in the army, and that I would be leaving the Heinelt twins behind. To my regret at parting from those exceptionally good companions were added feelings of apprehension when I remembered that soon they too they would be conscripted. How would these gentle people cope with what lay ahead and how, since it was contrary to the rules that twins be conscripted to the same unit, would they endure being parted from each other?

The last days in camp passed quickly and on 27 April I said goodbye to Heinz and Günther and my other comrades. There was a touch of spring in the air when I took my last walk through the woods to Krokow to start the long train journey back to Mücheln. I had already written to Aunt Grete and she was expecting me that evening.

During my three days in Mücheln, I wrote letters and visited acquaintances. On the evening before I left for Holland, Aunt Grete’s sister-in-law, who happened to be staying in the house said good-bye to me, mouthing a silent prayer as she made the sign of the cross on my forehead. I knew that her son had been killed in action a year before and, though I was deeply touched by her gesture, I could not but think that she would have done the same for him, yet now he was dead.

My last day as a civilian had arrived and I got up in good time to catch an early morning train to Halle. My fellow-passengers were a mixture of civilians and military personnel, but there was little conversation except between people who were obviously travelling together. It must be remembered that soldiers were expressly warned about chance remarks they might make in conversation with strangers. Notices bearing the legend, “Feind hört mit!” (The Enemy overhears you) could be seen everywhere and civilians took care not to mention mail from relatives in uniform, recent air-raids, rationing, or many other things which could somehow be of use to a listener in foreign pay. This tended to put a damper on talk between strangers and I did not get into conversation with anybody in my carriage.

After reading a magazine that I had brought with me, my thoughts turned to idle speculation on what might lie ahead of me. I was aware of past spectacular successes of the Division Göring, but it was only when writing this book that I discovered that the division had twice before been almost completely wiped out in action. The first time was on the Russian Front in February of 1942, and the second time was as a member of the German Afrika-Corps in May, 1943. A new division was raised over the next two months and went into action in Italy. The Division Göring was involved in bitter fighting on the retreat in Tuscany, even as I was on my way to its training base in Holland.

When the train reached Holland I became very interested in the Dutch countryside and the architecture. I liked the neatness of houses and fields, and the abundance of canals and picturesque windmills. The rest of the train journey passed quickly and I arrived in Utrecht on time. For a trip of some 400 miles this was a remarkable example of the efficiency of the railway system in wartime Germany. After reporting to a staff sergeant in the military section of the station’s administration building, I joined a group of other young recruits with whom I was driven to the barracks by army bus.

The barracks turned out to be a large complex of three-storey buildings surrounding a huge parade-ground and encompassing a number of other open spaces. It had once been a garrison for the Dutch army and was generously laid out. My dormitory was bright and pleasant with a high ceiling. It contained only sixteen beds which made it look sociable, but it was still rather spartan. Apart from a locker beside each bed, the room was furnished with only four tables and chairs. A small notice-board had a timetable pinned to it listing the following day’s activities.

We had a quick wash and went off to the canteen, sitting together since we felt self-conscious in our “civvies” among the soldiers in uniform. The meal was hot and wholesome, if a little plain and for dessert there was fruit preserves and “ersatz” coffee. At this stage conversation began to flow more freely and I was able to get to know a little about my new colleagues.

About one-third of them had been Luftwaffen-auxiliaries before doing Labour Service, so they would have been secondary schoolboys like me. The others were barely out of their basic apprenticeships in technical crafts and other trades. All were cheerful and nobody betrayed any sign of the downheartedness that, I thought, must be lurking somewhere.

I became very conscious that my civilian clothes were now the last tenuous connection with my past. By the next morning I would be in uniform, a faceless number, a nobody, cut off from all my relatives and friends. It was as if I would suddenly become powerless, just as my relatives would lose all power to help me.