Western Ways 6

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CHAPTER 6
Jim pushed the bundle of lists to one side, and settled back into his seat, hoping that it would take the sting out of his next words.

“We will have the Red Cross coming in for a visit, or the Jerries will send them a list of names. Not sure about that, but apparently the Swedes or Swiss or whoever give us parcels. We are also to be allowed mail from home, which can include parcels. That is on certain conditions. One of them is what we already do, or rather our Officers do, but it’s down to me right here and now. I have to read and censor your letters”

There was some muttering, But Dinger, taking the lead as usual, waved a hand to shut the others up before they could get started.

“How! We’ve always had that on active service, aye? Sergeant Allen’s one of our own, am I right? Sarge, there’s more, isn’t there?”

Jim nodded.

“Thanks, lad. Aye, there’s more. First, when our own boss did it, it was always with a witness, so there was what they call check and balance. This is just going to be me, unless we get another senior NCO into the camp. The other thing is that it’s not just the usual stuff; they’ve given us this”

He waved the lists at them, shaking his head to show how he felt.

“If we slip up, we lose our letters and parcels. I am asking you--- aye, asking--- to be sensible. I am going to let you all have a read of the rules, and ask that you do your best to keep onside. And please: remember that I have to read this, so no NORWICH or BIBWYLO stuff from any of you”

Jonty looked puzzled.

“I’ve never been there, Sarge”

Dinger and Jim shared a look, before the former nodded.

“I’ll explain it to him later. Aye, makes sense. When does this all start?”

“No idea, lad. I mean, we haven’t even got any paper right now, but I’m hoping there’ll be something in the parcels we can use”

One of the Armstrongs was next.

“Don’t you know, Sarge?”

Jim forced a laugh, just in case.

“Not a clue, young’un. I wasn’t exactly planning on being a POW, was I? Now, must be time we get fed. I fancy steak pie and chips, me!”

It came in big dixies, like the ones they had been served from on the train journey, and it was what would probably have been called mutton stew, but was actually mostly water and sliced potatoes, with a few pieces of stringy reddish meat and a few small pieces of bone. Served with it were chunks of dark and solid bread, and a dark and bitter hot drink that Jim assumed was meant to be coffee, but wasn’t.

The lights went on around the fence at about eight o’clock, as dusk was taking hold, and for once the men were quiet, absorbed in their own world, whether of fear for their future or of simple relief at having survived, that far at least. Jim settled into his bunk as the night drew in, and to his surprise, he slept through until he woke to the sound of guards shouting something that sounded like ‘Rowse! App-ell!’.

They were formed up in front of the huts for what was clearly a roll-call, and that set the pattern for each subsequent day. Up early, stand in ranks while names were called, a row of Opel trucks waiting. The first morning, it was clear that the ‘sightseeing visit’ to the coal mines had been all the preparation the lads would be allowed before their work began, and as they were driven away, the rest of the boys were formed into a column and marched off for their own labour in the fields.

Emotions surged in Jim’s mind, alone in so many ways now, only Germans as company. He decided to head back to the hut, but there was a shout behind him.

“Sergeant! You will come this way!”

The interpreter, Weber, was standing outside the admin hut, and as Jim turned to face him, the man beckoned him over.

“Now, the Oberst wishes an assessment, yes? Come to the Kubelwagen. You will ride with me”

He indicated the rear bench seat of the tin-roof car, a driver already in place wearing his uniform side-cap rather than one of the coal scuttle helmets. As Weber settled himself next to Kim, the other German took off his little cap, tucking it under a shoulder strap, started the engine and pulled onto the road away from the camp. The canvas top of the car was folded away, and Jim felt almost free as the wind moved his hair around, as they followed a series of small lanes. The countryside was green and rolling, and the openness and big skies reminded Jim of parts of Northumberland. There were dark woods in the middle distance, but not as forbidding as he had expected. As the car turned off onto yet another country road, they skirted some of the woodland, Jim had expected some sort of primeval jungle of firs, but the trees were mostly broad-leaved, and he spotted alder and birch, larch and a type of skinny oak. Definitely roebuck country.

“You enjoy the country, Sergeant?”

“Sorry? Sir?”

“This is good land here, away from the coal places. We have much of animals here, from the wild swine to the---roe, you say?”

“Yes, sir. Roe deer”

“We are not in the South of this land, so the---vermin? Yes, your word. They are small. In the South, there is bear and luchs”

“Bloody hell! Bears? Sir?”

“Ja, and the luchs also. You do not have in England, no?”

“Bears, none. Don’t know what a luchs is, sir”

“It is a very big cat, Sergeant”

“How big is that, sir?”

“They hunt the reh, the roe deer. Sometimes they hunt the wild swine”

Jim’s stomach lurched. A cat that would take a roebuck, or a wild boar? A CAT?”

“That’s a very big cat indeed, sir”

“Ah, they are only in the mountains to the South, with the bears. Our vermin is smaller, got sigh dankt. Ah! Here is the place”

There were gates, with a drop-bar next to a striped sentry box, where a German soldier, this one wearing his helmet, stamped to attention as the car drew up, his rifle at the ‘present’. It didn’t distract Jim’s attention from the well-concealed machine-gun emplacement set up in some bushes a little way up what was now clearly a drive. The building they were heading for initially seemed featureless, red tiles roofing what looked like a long, curving agricultural building. They followed its wall to another gate, then into a courtyard facing a bulkier building with a square tower to each side, all roofed, once again, with red pantiles. Suddenly, the arrangement made sense: the ‘long barn’ was actually an outer defensive wall, and this was the keep. Everything was covered in whitewashed plaster or some sort of rendering, but in a few places Jim could see the underlying massive stone blocks that formed the wall.

Weber stepped out of the odd little car, waving for Jim to follow, and headed for a door to the left of the main building.

“We will probe this way of working, sergeant. This was the place for the vermin man, before”

He flung open the door to reveal a typical countryman’s office, a small pot stove to one side and a selection of mole and gin traps hanging on one wall. Mattocks and spades were piled in the corner behind the door, along with two axes, a couple of hatchets and some saws, but what caught Jim’s eye was the ledger and pens on the desk. Paper. Something to take back for the lads and their letters.

Weber coughed for attention.

“What is on the desk that holds you, Sergeant?”

Now way out.

“My men would write letters, sir. They have nothing to write with, or on”

“Ah. I will address that for you. Can you see what you are requiring for your work?”

“Ummmm… Aye, sir, mostly. I’d need some posts for the gins, though, and perhaps some poison”

He grinned at the officer, feeling a little better at his offer. He mimed firing two barrels in sequence.

“I could do with a twelve-bore, but you’ve already said no! May I ask a question, sir?”

“Of course”

“An estate like this, surely there would be a gamekeeper--- a vermin controller, aye? Surely there would be one here already?”

“Ah. The Oberst, his man was taken for the lendser, the infantery. And this is a new home for him. We are in Mehren here. Moravia, you say. The man who had this office is elsewhere now also. This is our living room, our space. It is not as… In Poland, we have the general government for them, and it will soon be clean again, but there are so, so many Jews there. This, this is a good place. Please, now, to make a list of the things we must gather”

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Comments

"it will soon be clean again"

funny, they thought the Jews were vermin, whereas I think they were the vermin

DogSig.png

its

Maddy Bell's picture

been a while but its nice to see a new chapter.


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Madeline Anafrid Bell

You’re so prolific

Robertlouis's picture

…and generous as a writer, but I’m very glad to see you return to this story.

Thank you.

☠️

Good to see a new chapter.

Welcome back, I'll be interested in seeing where this story takes us. Thanks for the story.
Not sure about the reference to Jews. Perhaps the sergeant and his fellow soldiers have some sort of unsavoury past.
We'll just have to be patient and wait it seems.
Bev.

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NORWICH/BIBWYLO???

joannebarbarella's picture

I have no idea what these acronyms mean. Please explain!

Jim has a hard road to negotiate to do the best by his men without betraying them.

Norwich

They are two traditional greetings to loved ones, along the same lines as 'SWALK' (sealed with a loving kiss).
NORWICH: (k)nickers off ready when I come home
BIBWYLO: be in bed with your legs open

On a couple of more serious notes, that passing comment about Jews is intended to evince the absolutely casual antisemitism that cut across borders back then. The past was NOT a nice place filled with a fluffy and diverse group of people, and an example of that is the USA, where all too many soldiers who had seen, first hand, places like Dachau were still happy to fight desegregation in their home country after the war. I grew up with the casual racism in the UK that equated black and Irish people to dogs (notices concerning rooms to rent: no blacks, no dogs, no Irish)

The other topic that might get people twitching is Jim's attitude to 'vermin'. That includes eagles, buzzards, ospreys, harriers, pine martins, otters and so on. Gin traps (leg traps) on poles, poisoned carcasses left out for birds of prey, and so on, were all considered perfectly normal actions. You can assume that I do not approve of them at all!

Illegal poisoning

Robertlouis's picture

There’s plenty of illegal poisoning and worse that goes on by gamekeepers on so called sporting estates to protect game birds so that well-heeled twits can blast them out of the skies, all at the sacrifice of protected species of raptors. It happens on the grouse moors not far from my home in York.

☠️

Poisoning

Oh, indeed. I think my views on that are well known; I am astonished at the number of times, in so many different shooting estates, birds of prey fitted with radio trackers disappear accidentally, the trackers ending up accidentally falling off, tumbling by chance into a bag of shielding material, which then, purely by chance, falls into a pond or burrows itself into the earth. There is also the occasional rain of poisoned carcasses, and a plague of wild pole-traps sprouts overnight in certain areas.

For those unaware, what happens is that the gamekeeper, who acts completely against the wishes of the landowner who employs him, is sometimes prosecuted. If convicted, to the horror of the landowner, who is, remember, unaware of his employee's activities, and appalled by them, the estate worker gets a fine. This is paid by the disgusted landowner, who despises his workers actions so viscerally that he keeps him in the job. This can happen multiple times.

I think my sarcasm is self-evident.