John Martin - A Raid Over Berlin

Terror struck in the early afternoon when the unsettling sound of boots came to a smart halt outside my cell. The door was flung open and two guards stood looking at me for the final time. After what seemed to be an age one of them ordered, ‘Pick up your belongings, you are leaving.’

I only had my battledress blouse to pick up, so with that in one hand, they marched me at what seemed to be a much quicker pace than usual, along the corridors. My feet felt very heavy and my knees went weak thinking, ‘I am on my way to the Gestapo, first to be tortured and then shot.’ Then, as we halted at a door that appeared to lead to the outside, the even more frightening thought came to me: ‘They are going to shoot me now.’

When the door was flung open, however, I was pushed not into a yard with a firing squad, as I was expecting, but into a large, bright room crowded with Allied Airmen. They were laughing, talking and smoking cigarettes, creating an unmistakable atmosphere of wellbeing. My sense of relief was indescribable. I was not to be shot. My interrogation was over, and I was amongst the boys again. Then I was greeted by the rather splendid sight of David coming towards me with his usual grin at its best.

I think I was the last prisoner to join the group and soon learned that they had already been told that they would be leaving for a prison camp that day.

We must have been a very sorry looking bunch gathered there. Several, like David and I, were bandaged up and some were limping rather badly. We all looked very dirty, as there had been no washing facilities during our incarceration and nearly two weeks of grime had been added to the bloodstains and bruises, but we were well aware then, and will never forget, that we were the lucky ones.

In an adjoining room we were pleasantly surprised to find some food had been set out for us; nothing exotic: biscuits, cheese, tinned meat and a delicious fruit drink, but it tasted so nice after the sour black bread and swede soup. The meal was not down to the generosity or compassion of our captors but had come from Red Cross parcels and was set out by a work party of British POWs who were held at Dulag Luft. Looking back, I think this could have been allowed and encouraged by the Germans in the hope that we would be put off guard and forget about the hidden microphones we had been warned about, and divulge some information they were looking for, but I cannot remember any talk at all; not out of a sense of duty, but because all interest was centred on the food, which all went far too quickly.

After this brief and unexpected treat, we were each handed another. The American Red Cross had provided an attaché case which, although made of cardboard, was very strong and contained a towel, soap, a toothbrush and paste and some shaving gear. These items were of no immediate use without water but were very much appreciated and were to become treasured possessions in POW life.

Also available, for those in need, were boots from the Canadian Red Cross. The boots I had been provided with at Tempelhof airfield◦– you may recall I had somehow lost one of my own in the air◦– had a very cold and unfriendly feel to them and I was glad to discard them for a pair of soft, warm and comfortable Royal Canadian Airforce ones. We were always told how methodical the Germans were with their records, but unbelievably, almost before I had taken the borrowed boots off, a Luftwaffe airman appeared, scooped them up, gave them a brief inspection and marched off with them. I must have been a marked prisoner from the moment I put them on. I hope he recorded their return or I might yet get a bill for them.

All flying clothing had been confiscated (those who had managed to evade capture for a time, would have discarded and hidden theirs to look as much like a civilian as possible) so it came as a pleasant surprise when RAF greatcoats were then handed out to everyone from the Red Cross store. Those coats were to become invaluable as we were destined for what was probably the most northerly Stalag for Allied prisoners, and warm clothing was something we would all need to face the cold, harsh German winter.

We must have looked a very strange party as we left Dulag Luft on that cold February afternoon. Dirty, ragged, bandaged and limping, but each carrying a brand-new attaché case. Unlike the journey we made coming to Frankfurt, we were not going to enjoy the comfort of travelling in passenger coaches, but neither were we going to be exposed to the very aggressive civilians. On the other hand, the guards escorting us might not be so skilled in protecting us or have reason to be, as we had all been fully interrogated now, and were of much less value to our captors.

We were quickly loaded on to waiting lorries under heavy guard and transported to a railway goods yard not far away. They stopped alongside a train made up of goods wagons which instantly reminded me of those shown on the Pathé Newsreel, at my local Odeon cinema earlier in the war, taking Jews off to detention camps. Nobody then, outside Germany, could guess what their terrible fate would be; at least in that respect I was spared apprehension.

RAF Intelligence had warned us of a ploy that might be used at Dulag Luft. In return for answers to their questions, they would offer a quick transfer to a POW camp, where the accommodation would be very comfortable, with adequate sports facilities and all the comforts of modern life. No doubt the poor Jewish people were deceived in a similar fashion in the earlier days to make the task of transporting them to their deaths a little easier for their evil captors. Later in the war they were brutally and unashamedly forced into them. I have never understood how the Nazis were able to conceal their crimes against the Jews from the rest of the world for so long. I suppose it had a lot to do with the truth being so unimaginable, no one would have suspected it.

Our guards remained very efficient and quickly got all our party transferred into one of the rail wagons, leaving not the slightest chance of any of us slipping away into the gathering darkness. Once inside it could be seen that security had been well taken care of with the interior divided into three sections by heavy timber and barbed wire. The centre section, where there was a sliding door on each side for loading purposes, was occupied by three or four armed guards. We were detained in the two end sections, with only a narrow door, securely bolted from the centre section, being the only possible means of escape.

The friendly company of other Allied airmen was a vast improvement on the loneliness and anxiety of Dulag Luft and although there was not enough room for each prisoner to lie down on the floor of the wagon, there was just enough room, while sitting upright along each side, to straighten our legs. Little did I realise that this was a relative luxury and, as the journey was only going to take a day or two, far worse journeys were to come during my long captivity.

We could see the guards through the barbed wire preparing their evening meal. Nothing we would envy at that time◦– a piece of black sausage and a hunk of black bread◦– but a few months later the sight of anything edible, just out of reach, would have been a torment. They also had a small coal burning stove, which they used to make a hot drink, that ersatz coffee, but the heat output of the stove would have been too small to make any noticeable difference to the very cold temperatures that had to be endured by all.

The night soon passed with several stops being made. With each stop we thought our journey was completed, but as it became daylight the reason for the stops became clear◦– our train had no priority and was frequently put into a siding to allow other trains to pass. As it got slightly warmer the guards slid one of the doors open a crack, and apart from being grateful for the fresh air, it allowed some view of what was going on outside and told us that we were travelling north, towards the Russian Front.