Quick review: Stalag Luft III. An Official History of the 'Great Escape' POW Camp

Given my current research I have been avidly awaiting my copy of Stalag Luft III. An Official History of the 'Great Escape' POW Camp, the history of the British and Commonwealth compounds at Stalag Luft III. 

I must admit that I was disappointed in that, although there is preface, there is no proper introduction setting the whole thing in context and explaining something of the background to the production of the report which you come to expect with the general release of  war time reports. Seb Cox's editorial introduction to the official Battle of Britain report in the RAF Official Histories series published by Cass, and Graham Pitchfork's introduction to the Air Ministry's escape report, published by The National Archives, come to mind. Both attribute the original authors and include significant background detail which adds to an understanding of the report. 

The nominal index is helpful, especially when tracking someone through multiple camps, but if mistakes were made in the original (sorry, life is too short to check), no attempt to correct them was made here. For instance, Gordon, JAR is actually JAC (James Anthony Cathcart) and F/Lt Hake AA was actually Warrant Officer Albert Horace Hake. There is no excuse for getting the latter wrong in this publication as he was one of the Fifty killed so has a certain amount of public recognition. And did the original report spell Belaria incorrectly?  

(Courtesy of the Preen Family)  

In my opinion, a subject index, including names, would have been better, and professional indexers do provide this service. Or am I the only one who wants to easily find compasses, or radios, or code work, for instance, without trawling through individual pages and so this expensive type of index was considered unnecessary? 

It is certainly useful having the reports of all the camps together: I made the mistake of paying a fortune for the North and East Compound reports only, and could never quite afford to get the Centre and Belaria compound's reports. Having all the British compounds in one handy little book is very helpful. 

One final niggle: there was much more to Stalag Luft III than the Great Escape, as is clear from the report itself. Why do the publisher's feel they need to hang the book on that event in its subtitle? (Rhetorical question: I know that the Great Escape is the camp's most recognisable event and accordingly the most marketable, but really, it annoys me because that experience was not shared by the majority of SLIII's prisoners.)

There is no author or editor attribution. I don't think it is available in Australia yet. One friend I know purchased his copy from Amazon, and mine came via The Book Depository (postage free). If you haven't forked out for the original which is at the UK archives, it is worth having. It is useful and informative, but with such a little effort and the assistance of an editor with knowledge of the subject to note errors in the original and interpolate clarifying footnotes and corrections, and a more detailed index, it could have been so much better. 

'It just goes on and on in my head, and makes me fear very much, that I will not see my son again': A woman's response to captivity.

A little musing given today is International Women's Day. More often than not, the impact of war on women is forgotten or airbrushed out of the usual sort of military book. My aviation biographies have both included details of the women my subjects loved but word limit precluded only brief mentions. I had more scope in Australia's Few to deal with the impact of loss on the airmen's wives, girlfriends and mothers. Strange as it may seem, women will have a more significant place in my POW thesis because I believe that captivity (and war in general for that matter) was not just a male experience. It was also a female one. And so, (at this stage) roughly a third of my thesis is dedicated to women's responses to their menfolk's captivity; the importance of the women to the POWs as links to home; and the significance of their absence in the men's lives behind barbed wire.

When I first started research I was worried that I would not be able to gather evidence to tell the women's stories and, to be truthful, two families declined to provide me with access to their letters because they believed they were too private. I do understand this attitude but as well as protecting privacy, they are also ensuring that women's responses to captivity continue to be airbrushed from history.

Fortunately, other families have been more supportive of my desire to recount the female perspective. Here is a small indication of the pain Mrs May Fraser felt when she heard her son Donald was missing. She did not know if he was alive or dead, and it was the second time he had gone missing on operations so she knew it would be some time before she heard anything definite. If at all. She wrote to a friend who used to serve with him, hoping for just a little bit of hope to cling on to.

I am writing to ask you if you can give us any idea of the work Don was doing at the time he was reported missing, where you think he would likely be, over the land, or over the sea—is it possible he would be Tunisia, or do you think Italy or Sicily would be more likely spots, and will you honestly tell me, what you think of his chances of still being alive—I try to hope that he may be a POW and if he came down over the land there may be a chance that he is—but I am very afraid of the sea. I know they have rubber boats and every other contrivance for safety, but if they are shot down, would they have time to use them. That is what is worrying me so, it just goes on and on in my head, and makes me fear very much, that I will not see my son again.

The friend wrote back, and she gladly accepted the gleam of hope he offered but she still suffered from the lack of knowledge. 'I haven't been well, the worry and anxiety always sends my blood pressure.' She eventually heard that Donald had been captured and sent to a prisoner of war camp. Her granddaughter recalled that her relief that he was safely out of harm’s way in a Stalag Luft III was intense. There was a great sense of peace that he was safe. And then May waited for his return.

Interrogation at Dulag Luft: Australian Prisoners of War

I’ve been looking at what the Australians of Stalag Luft III went through during interrogation, and how they responded. Not everyone had a bad time of it, but a good many did, and here are the recollections of just a few.

The Luftwaffe took over the Army’s Offiziersdurchgangslager (officers’ through camp) at Oberursel in December 1939 and renamed it Durchgangslager der Luftwaffe (through camp of the Air Force). Located just northwest of Frankfurt, one part of the complex served as the Luftwaffe’s main transit camp and the other became the Luftwaffe’s main intelligence gathering centre. The intelligence and transit sections were separated in September 1943; the intelligence staff remained at Oberursel but the transit camp was relocated to Frankfurt, near the railway station. That was destroyed in a raid in March 1944 and a camp was constructed at Wetzlar, about 30 miles north of Frankfurt. Interrogations continued to be carried out at Oberursel. The entire facility soon became known simply as Dulag Luft and, despite a number of name changes over the years, and regardless of location, continued to be referred to as Dulag Luft.

Germany’s attitude to interrogation was organised. Within weeks of the beginning of the war, the Germans recognised that prisoners of war would be good sources of information about British morale, war-readiness, and military strength and matériel. Army prisoners, however, were usually taken in large groups either by battle winners, or as a consequence of surrender. Any interrogation was usually carried out close to the battlefield and was at best cursory. Assiduous and wide-ranging intelligence gathering and assessment became the province of the Luftwaffe which recognised that aircrew would be great assets in the intelligence war. Accordingly, a dedicated and ‘sophisticated sifting centre’ was co-located with the Dulag Luft transit camp and all aircrew captured in German held territory passed through it before transferring to permanent camps.

Dulag Luft evolved into a professionally-run organisation where intelligence gathering was developed to a fine art. By intensively interrogating new arrivals, scrutinising documents and equipment carried by the airmen, and examining crashed aircraft, interrogators developed a detailed knowledge of allied air operations. It was acknowledged as the most efficient interrogation facility of the war and boasted an extensive archive which included press clippings, photographs, maps, and squadron histories, and comprehensive lists of squadron personnel. More than one man was shocked by the level of detail accumulated by the interrogators.

*****

The period immediately after capture is acknowledged as one of the most physical and trying phases of the entire captivity continuum. Formal interrogation, which occurred within days of apprehension was, for many, the worst experience since their last battle. Recognising that prisoners still suffering the shock of captivity would more easily succumb to the pressure of interrogation, new captives were whisked to preliminary detention for questioning by local military personnel before they were almost as quickly ferried to Frankfurt. Some were humiliated by the local populace en route. Some had made abortive escape attempts while in transit and their confidence was at a low ebb. Once they arrived at Dulag Luft, every aspect of their confinement in the cooler—the prisoner name for detention cells both at Dulag Luft and permanent camps—was designed to create psychological pressure, thus breaking down any resistance to interrogation.

The Dulag Luft interrogators spoke perfect English and were professional. They developed sophisticated, insidious interrogation techniques which included ‘softening up’, repetitive questioning, wheedling details bit by bit, and alternately adopting friendly and menacing styles. They also deployed food and sensory deprivation, varying degrees of torture, and took advantage of continuing shock.

Rooms were kept in darkness for extended periods and the walls were so thick the airmen could not orientate themselves to the outside world. Before they were consigned to solitary confinement in a small cell with few amenities, new arrivals were stripped of their belts, boots and uniform, underwent a complete—and in Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Baines’ recollection, ‘embarrassing’—body search and were x-rayed. While some items were returned, Article 5 of the Geneva Convention stated that ‘identity tokens, badges of rank, decorations and articles of value may not be taken from prisoners’. Person items (other than weapons) were eventually returned. Uniforms, however, were not. In Norman ‘Bill’ Amos’ case, he was issued with an ill-fitting pair of riding pants and a woolly singlet and a pair of wooden clogs.

Ronald Baines

Norman ‘Bill’ Amos

There were many significant examples of inhumane treatment at Dulag Luft including isolation, discomfort, physical and sensory deprivation and varying degrees of torture. Indeed, according to one commandant, ‘no amount of solitary confinement, privation and psychological blackmail was considered excessive’. It was a disturbing time and Richard ‘Dick’ Winn, for one, alternated between despondency and near panic and hope. ‘These mood swings were very frequent.’ Compounding their distress, the airmen were placed on harsh rations. It did not appear to matter that such treatment contravened the Geneva Convention.

Richard ‘Dick’ Winn

In his diary, George Archer recorded the three days he spent in the Dulag Luft cells. He briefly noted the conditions of his accommodation and treatment. ‘In cooler. Bloody awful. Nothing to do but sleep.’ The next day, he was ‘still in cooler, very hot. No windows open. No books or shaving. Sleeping is the only saviour. Five dirty spuds and soup for dinner. Bread and herb tea. B. and tea.’

George Archer. Courtesy of David Archer

Archer’s contemporary diary, jotted into a small pocket notebook, had little space for elaboration. Those compiling late-life accounts had more scope, and decades’ reflection to record the more challenging physical and psychological aspects of this phase of captivity. ‘The room in which I was placed was unlit, virtually soundproof, overheated and hence enervating’, reminisced Alex Arnel. Bruce Lumsden, Bill Amos and Dick Winn recalled alternating hot and cold in the cells where any sleep was intermittent. Kenneth Gaulton sweltered ‘with all the heat turned up in the middle of summer; it was pretty uncomfortable’, and Ken Todd included in his wartime log book a pencil drawing of his cell annotated ‘heaters on in summer, off in winter’. Lumsden began to realise that this contravention of the Geneva Convention was ‘another part of the game of prisoner harassment’. Knowing this did nothing to alleviate Lumsden’s ‘sense of mingled rage and humiliation’.

Alex Arnel. Courtesy of Alec Arnel

Bruce Lumsden

Kenneth Gaulton 

 http://australiansatwarfilmarchive.unsw.edu.au/archive/1276-kenneth-gaulton

Ken Todd’s cell. Courtesy of Peter Todd

Once in the interrogation cell, polite, seemingly friendly and courteous questioners tried to coerce with cigarettes, bonhomie and, in the case of Alex Arnel, morning tea of scones, honey and coffee and admiration of the Spitfire. Alex Kerr, who had come to Dulag Luft after many months in hospital, recalled that he too had received ‘soft treatment’, possibly because, he speculated, any information he might have would be out of date. When the soft touch, deployed by ‘gushingly polite’ interrogators failed, the Germans again contravened the Geneva Convention.

Alex Kerr

 http://australiansatwarfilmarchive.unsw.edu.au/archive/1489-alexander-kerr

Arnel was threatened with being handed over to townsfolk who had been subjected to propaganda about the allied terrorfliegers (terror flyers) who had subjected them to frequent bombing raids. ‘What do you think would happen?’, the interrogator demanded of Arnel. When that failed to elicit a response, Arnel heard his neighbour being removed from his cell, then shouts and a volley of rifle fire. ‘I tried to convince myself that this was just another psychological pressure to get us to “cooperate” but nagging doubts remained.’ Douglas McLeod was deliberately lied to in order to weaken his defence. He was told that ‘3 members of my crew had been killed’. As a Jew, Cy Borsht suffered physical as well as psychological assaults. His interrogator hit him on the back of the head, lightly at first and then harder and harder. Finally, in the face of Borsht’s continued resistance to questioning, he ‘played the Jew card with me’, threatening to hand him over to the Gestapo. ‘The information he was after was not important, really. He was making an issue of it’, Borsht recalled 71 years later. ‘He was making a big fella of himself.’

Cyril Borsht

Douglas McLeod

Kenneth Gaulton later claimed that the only time he was deliberately tortured was during his encounter with the interrogators. Doug Hutchinson was also tortured. Although he was admitted to nearby Hohemark clinic for shrapnel wounds to elbow, legs and body, and a piece shot from his left foot, he was denied treatment for three weeks. He was on his back during interrogation. ‘I couldn’t move very much, I had a leg that was aching like hell. … I had bits and pieces off all over me, and I was starting to feel sore. And I suppose there was a certain reaction catching up with me, from the crash.’ Despite pain and discomforted, Hutchinson he resisted questioning. His interrogator then aggravated his foot wound. While Charles Lark, who had been seriously injured during his last operation and had had an eye removed before being transported to Dulag Luft, did not mention deliberate torture, he requested medical attention on a number of occasions and was refused.

Douglas Hutchinson. Courtesy of Robert Douglas Hutchinson

Charles Lark

Despite the physical and psychological assaults many found opportunities to withstand ill-treatment. Some had been briefed during escape and evasion lectures about what might happen during interrogation, or had viewed the 1940 training film, Enemy Interrogation of Prisoners. They had been warned that the Germans would consider them valuable sources of information and would question them; they were primed to be wary of tricky interrogation techniques. The airmen had also been alerted to the possibility of stool pigeons. As well as formal briefings, the rumour mill worked overtime and many ‘heard’ that they might be beaten and tortured to extract vital military ‘gen’ (information).

Armed with this knowledge and rumour-based expectation, the airmen took control to mitigate the worst of the debilitating effects of sensory deprivation. They actively exerted personal power to raise their morale and maintain self-discipline. Bill Amos played with a piece of string to amuse himself and to keep himself alert during solitary confinement. Dick Winn—who spent his 22nd birthday in Dulag Luft—did physical exercises and composed rhyming poetry in his head. ‘I figured that I should do the thing that was most difficult and time consuming for me. Each verse took many hours and sometimes days.’ Winn also indulged in some self-serving sabotage. Rather than put up with the ‘unbearably hot’ room, he disconnected one of the heater’s electrical wires  with his ‘dog tag’, now returned to him, and manipulated his fountain pen barrel to turn the heater on and off.

In physically alleviating the worst effects of the heat torture by rubbing his handkerchief on the early morning condensation in his cell, and urinating into his handkerchief and using the moisture to ‘just wet the lips’, Kenneth Gaulton also waged a psychological defence against his circumstances. ‘That was the way I beat the system in my mind’. Alex Arnel had received little briefing about what might happen in interrogation but he had already been subjected to German techniques in a local holding cell shortly after he was captured. Drawing on that experience, he battled disorientation, depression and boredom. He counted the straws in his palliasse, sang hymns and songs loudly and recited all the poetry and scripture he could remember. Bruce Lumsden turned to his religious background as well. ‘I sought comfort and strength in prayer and in softly singing a hymn—the 23rd Psalm.’

Once the interrogation began, Justin O’Byrne was alert to German ploys for information. After about seven or eight hours alone in the cell, ‘a German “leutnant”’ came into his room and offered him an English cigarette. ‘He gave me a form with a big Red Cross on the top and asked me to fill it in’. O’Byrne and Bill Amos had been warned that these forms were bogus, designed to extract military details. Charles Lark believed very few were taken in and Tom Wood, for one, recognised immediately that ‘of course it was a fake’. O’Byrne certainly ‘had no intentions of falling for such a simple ruse’. Accordingly, he only ‘gave them my name rank and number which is compulsory under International Law’. The ‘leutnant’ asked O’Byrne why he ‘had not filled in the particulars concerning my squadron, group, duty, etc.’ and ‘said it was for the International Red Cross in Switzerland and that unless I completed it my next-of-kin would not be advised of the fact that I was still alive’. O’Byrne continued to refuse to complete the form so his interrogator said he would come back the next day ‘to see if I felt in a better mood to fill in the form’.

Justin O’Byrne. Courtesy of Anne O’Byrne

Each airman had a clear duty to protect the RAF’s security; he was still considered on ‘active service’ and was obliged to safeguard service information at all times. Indeed, that ‘responsibility is greatest after capture’. The training film Enemy Interrogation of Prisoners reinforced the onus of air force discipline and continuing service despite their captivity status:

You should remember that, although a prisoner of war, you are still at British subject and under the orders of the Royal Air Force. Obedience to these orders and procedure means that, far from being of no further service to your country, on the contrary, you can continue to be of great service to your country and comrades.

Dodging questions and refusing to complete forms was not just a source of pride for O’Byrne. He recognised he was still subject to air force discipline. And so, ‘I evaded every leading question he made’. It was also an opportunity to get the upper hand. ‘Whenever there was a lull in the conversation I enlarged on the advantages of using ‘De boric’, the boracic-glycerine treatment for blowfly strike on sheep’! After about two hours of question and evasion, the ‘leutnant’ threatened O’Byrne that ‘I would never see any of my friends and relations again if I did not give him the information he wanted’. O’Byrne continued to resist. ‘I told him that was just too bad, and he stormed out and slammed the door.’

Even through torture, Doug Hutchinson also attempted to outwit his questioner. When silence didn’t work, ‘I tried to be smarter all the time’. When they asked something, he would reply, ‘“You know the answer. Why are you asking me?” That sort of thing. And they thought we had radar on the aircraft, which we didn’t, and they believed that, so I said, “Well, you know, so why are you asking me about it?”.’ Cy Borsht also managed to act smarter during the continuing physical and psychological abuse—‘it was just simply a matter of repeating what you’ve already told him’—until, at the end of ‘a harrowing four days’ he was released to the transit camp.

After interrogation, the prisoners were taken to Dulag Luft’s transit camp to join the other prisoners. ‘What a relief it was to mix with our own crowd again!’, recalled Charles Lark. Henry ‘Harry’ Train was pleased to be reunited with his crew members, including one who he thought had been killed during the attack on their aircraft. Reuniting with old friend was morale-raising but so too was being able to share their recent experiences and identifying with those who had overcome adversity. ‘There are some original characters here and spirits are always high’, Train recorded. ‘Pretty well every one of these boys have looked death in the face … and their stories are well worth listening to’.

Henry ‘Harry’ Train. Courtesy of Peter Mayo

The horrors of final combat, the shock of captivity, and any lingering effects of ill-treatment were put aside by many in Dulag Luft’s transit camp in the face of like-mindedness, shared experience, conviviality, ‘wizard’ food provided courtesy of the Red Cross, and an energetic social life which included sport, films, concerts, and a steady stream of new arrivals. Within a few weeks, the prisoners were transported to a permanent facility. Officers travelled ‘by 3rd class’ train, ‘sergeants by cattle truck’. Regardless of the mode, it was, as far as George Archer and Ronnie Baines were concerned, ‘bloody awful’.

When I went through their accounts, I found that some prisoners mentioned they had had no briefing, others mentioned they had seen a training film about the experiences of a bomber crew after they’d been taken to Dulag Luft. I let my fingers do the walking and found Enemy Interrogation of Prisoners  on Youtube. I thought you might be interested to see what the RAF thought would happen. Reality, for many as you have seen, was quite a bit different.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KoXQIcgMEhs

The film lasts about half an hour. If you don’t have time to watch it, here is the precis courtesy of the Imperial War Museum:

Film consists of a fictional episode with actors and spoken dialogue. Brief film sequence shows a Lockheed Hudson taking off. Film begins with an actor portraying a senior RAF officer who introduces the characters and sets the scene. Before the mission aircrews turn out their pockets to remove identifying articles. A plane is forced to land in enemy territory and the crew taken prisoner; the film then describes how German intelligence learn of a new airfield and proposed bombing raid, starting with a simple clue—a bus ticket which reveals the home station of the prisoners—and subsequently building on this by the use of a variety of techniques— separation of the crew, fraternisation, ‘hard/soft’ interrogation and leading questions, a German posing as an RAF officer, and listening in on ‘idle chatter’ between crew members. Germans then launch a pre-emptive raid which destroys British aircraft and postpones planned raid. Conclusion—give only your name, rank and number, and ‘keep your mouth shut’. http://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/1060013719

Reactions to captivity. Australians in Stalag Luft III

I am always interested in how people cope with a difficult situation, and especially how they make the most of it. Take, for instance, the reactions of the men of Stalag Luft III to their new environment.

Stalag Luft III, in 1945, sketched by James R Taylor. Jim Taylor, a Scot, had given the original of this pencil drawing to Ken Carson. Courtesy of John Carson.

Each compound was ringed by two barbed wire fences, 10 feet high, whose tops sloped inwards, making climbing difficult. The 6 feet gap between—the Löwengang, or Lions Walk—was filled with thick coils of barbed wire, about 3 feet high. (The Vorlarger was also enclosed by a barbed wire fence.) Thirty or so feet from the inside barbed wire fence, 18 inches from the ground, was a warning line ‘beyond which’, Justin O’Byrne recalled, ‘it was suicide to step’. But not immediately. Prisoners were forbidden to cross it but, if they did, they were given two alerts, after which the guards were ordered to shoot. With so much barbed wire about, O’Byrne, looking back on his wartime accommodation, likened it to ‘the usual type of German concentration camp’.

Justin O'Byrne prior to his arrival at Stalag Luft III. Courtesy of Anne O'Byrne.

 While those of Stalag Luft III’s complement with experience in Buchenwald Concentration camp would perhaps disagree, the barbed wire certainly did nothing for some prisoners’ well-being. As one man put it, ‘It is really a horrible prospect looking out on a world through barbed wire: it gives you the feeling of having absolutely nothing to do with it’. Others, however, took a different view.

One man told his correspondent that ‘if it were not for the barbed wire and sentry boxes one could almost visualise a huge holiday camp’. Rather than gazing at his new abode through rose-tinted glasses, this chap appears to have sanitised his account for the benefit of the homefolks. He was not the only one to liken Stalag Luft III to holiday accommodation. Peter Kingsford-Smith took up the theme in his wartime log book. His drawing of the tree and barbed wire bordered compound, with guard tower to the left and wooden hut to the right, took the guise of a naïve travel poster captioned ‘furnish flats at mod[erate] rates. Holidays-at-Sagan’. Promoting ‘summer & winter sports’ interested holiday makers were to apply to ‘Luftwaffe headquarters’ or Stalag Luft 3’. Arthur Schrock, also painted a mock travel poster, complete with pines, snow and barbed wire, in his wartime log book entreating tourists to ‘Visit Sagan. A Haven of Tranquility [sic] Midst the Pines of Nieder Schlesien [Lower Silesia]’. 

Courtesy of Andrew RB Simpson.

Bill Fordyce depicted the ‘horrid result of life of debauchery & drunken-ness at the “haven-in-the-pines” Stalag Luft 3’.

Courtesy of Lily Fordyce.

 John Cordwell, much taken with the coniferous tree-scape, captioned his depiction of North Compound and its needle-y border ‘Heaven in the Pines!’; it was one of the few artefacts Kenneth ‘Ken’ Carson brought out of the camp.

Ken Carson's copy of John Cordwell's map of North Compound. Courtesy of John Carson.

British-born Archibald Sulston’s watercolour of a pine forest-backed hut in Peter Kingsford-Smith’s wartime log book is also entitled ‘Heaven in the Pines!’ but his tongue, like the tongues of the other artist-commentators, was firmly planted in cheek given the presence of an overflowing waste container, large puddles of water, an unsteadily-leaning wooden cask and a number of tree stumps in the drawing’s foreground. (It seems as if this was a common theme for Sulston because he painted a similar image in his own log book.)

Archibald Sulton's rendition in his own log book. Lifted, with thanks, from http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3058534/Enola-Gay-pilots-flight-logs-Hiroshima-plans-sale.html.

For some, there was no humour in the depiction of the camp as haven or heaven. Jock Bryce thought one of the Red Cross magazines erred ‘on the bright side when it described Luft III as “the heaven in the pines”’. John Osborne may have ‘almost settled down’ after his recent arrival, but was quick to tell his family that ‘it’s no heaven’. Osborne also resented the rosy portrayal of the camp by the Red Cross who frequently reprinted extracts from letters, such as the barbed-wire holiday camp mentioned above, depicting the brighter side of life. ‘What tales do the Red Cross print of our conditions?’ Albert Hake, however, was more than content with the images of ‘the pleasant pictures of happy POWs which I am assured are portrayed to worried relatives’ by the Red Cross and Prisoners of War Relatives’ Association. It gave him comfort knowing that his wife Noela was taken in by them. 

At least one man categorically believed that Stalag Luft III was both haven and as close to paradise as you could get in a prisoner of war camp. ‘After two months of hell of earth’ at Buchenwald Concentration Camp, where every hair on Keith Mill’s body had been shaved off, and he and his fellow prisoners, including eight other Australian airmen had ‘slept with rocks for our beds and the sky for our blanket for three weeks’ before managing ‘at last to get into a hut about 50 yards long with 700 people in it’ where they saw people die there, ‘some in strange ways’, Stalag Luft III ‘was heaven’.

Keith Mills and his wife, Val, in 2004. Lifted, with thanks, from http://www.dailymercury.com.au/news/true-gentleman-bows-out/1280342/ (Read this touching obituary.) 

A Kriegie Christmas

‘So another Kriegie Xmas passes’: Christmas in Stalag Luft III

I recently read that handwritten Christmas cards are rapidly becoming scarcities. Emails, text messages and social media posts take precedence when exchanging festive greetings. I don’t have a smart phone so I won’t be sending and seasonal missives via text but I can certainly attest to the rarity of Christmas cards dropping into my post box. And when I sat down to compile my list of recipients—largely based on who sent me cards last year—I realised that I have a very short list. So, it seems, despite the care Hallmark and Co put into their designs, Christmas cards are becoming increasingly more irrelevant.

The first Christmas cards were created because of a commercial imperative. Apparently, back in the 1840s, one of the men who set up the British post office wanted to generate more custom so worked with an artistic friend to design a Christmas card. People adopted the practice and a new tradition developed, expanding to the United States by the end of the decade, and throughout Europe by the turn of the century. In 1915, with the establishment of the aforementioned Hallmark—still one of the world’s biggest card makers—commercialisation of seasonal greetings was well and truly entrenched. 

Lifted from the Australian War Memorial https://www.awm.gov.au/collection/B02130/

451 Squadron Christmas card sent by Alec Arnel in 1943 to his sweetheart, Margery Grey. Courtesy of Alec Arnel.

Despite the commercial origins, exchanging Christmas cards became an important ritual and even Great War servicemen adopted it to send messages to their loved ones back at home. Those serving in the Second World War followed their lead in adopting this meaningful tradition. So important had it become to them that they couldn’t just abandon it because a fellow happened to fetch up in a prisoner of war camp in Germany. Of course, the prisoners—or ‘Kriegies’ as they dubbed themselves from the German kriegesgefangener (prisoners or war)—couldn’t pop out to the local greeting card purveyor to select something pretty to send home. Happily, ‘The Camp’, an English language newspaper, came to their rescue. Printed weekly in Berlin, ‘The Camp’ was distributed throughout the German prison camp network. Apparently—and I can’t verify this—it had a German editor, who was assisted by one or two ‘renegade Britishers’ and Calton Younger of Centre Compound, for one, considered it ‘an insidious form of propaganda’. It produced a number of Christmas cards for the allied prisoners of war. 

Harold Fry sent this one to his fiancée in 1941 (she received it on 12 March 1942!). Courtesy of Pat Martin. 

Tony Gordon sent this one to his loved ones in 1942. Courtesy of Drew Gordon.

Al Hake, George Archer, Justin O’Byrne and Tom Leigh, all sent this image in 1942.  

‘Christmas’, for the Australian prisoners of war in Stalag Luft III, was not just confined to the moment they filled out the address on the back of a card. It was something that was on their minds for months. Appreciating how long how it took for mail to travel from Germany to Australia, Al Hake wished his wife, Noela, a merry Christmas in his 8 September 1942 letter. (He was in East Compound at the time but later moved to North Compound.) George Archer of East Compound started the count down on 13 November 1942. ‘Six weeks to Christmas’, and then on 20 December, ‘One week to Christmas’. Justin O’Byrne, a one-time denizen of Room 3, Block 64 , East Compound AKA ‘Australia House’ looked to Christmas as a deadline for release, noting in an April 1942 letter, ‘I had great hopes of seeing London by August but still think that I will be there for Christmas—here’s hoping!!’ By 1 November, he realised this was naught but a pipe dream—for the time being: ‘My hope to be with you at Christmas will have to be postponed but I feel sure it won’t be long before we are all together again.’

George Archer at Oflag XXB Schubin, 1942. Courtesy of David Archer.

Justin—who had been a prisoner of war since August 1941—continued to think positively only to again have his hopes dashed. On 19 November 1943 he told his family ‘I had great hopes that I would be home for Christmas but no such luck’. But, he was still optimistic that he would be home by the next one. After a quiet Christmas in Stalag Luft III’s East Compound—enlivened by enough raisin wine ‘which we distilled and made a brew strong enough to give most of us a good “lift”’—and a New Year’s Eve where ‘we gathered round the piano and sang songs till midnight and then sang “Auld Lang Syne”’—Justin wished that ‘I can definitely say that I will see you all before the next one’. He maintained his optimism. Alluding in his 15 July 1944 letter to the recent D-Day operations and an apparent imminent release, he was ‘full of good cheer now that “the day” is near and will be seeing you all soon’.

Justin O’Byrne in better times. Courtesy of Anne O’Byrne.  

Justin was not alone in optimistically pinning his hopes on liberation ‘by Christmas’. It was perfectly natural to settle on a psychologically acceptable end date to confinement and given the importance of Christmas, it is not surprising that that was the day the majority focused on. In April 1943, ‘when Easter had come and gone’ Bert Comber—who was at the time in an Italian POW camp—‘realised how quickly the months slip by’ and thought that ‘perhaps Christmas will see me home’. Eleven months later, George Archer was thinking of his Uncle James who was approaching the ‘century mark’, and asked his parents to let his uncle know that he was ‘looking forward to seeing him around about Christmas 1944’. 

Bert Comber in Italy, 1942. Courtesy of  Cath McNamara.

In August that year, Colin Phelps of East Compound told his parents that ‘hopes of the war being over by Christmas are very high’. By November, however, ‘prospects of the war ending soon have receded at the moment. We once thought we might be back by Christmas’.

Not everyone looked to Christmas as the deadline for homecoming. On 6 February 1944, Justin O’Byrne told his family that ‘our choir is plugging away at Handel’s Messiah’. One of those contributing to that ‘excellent performance’ was North Compound’s Len Netherway. He had a fine singing voice and was one of the first tenors. Much as he enjoyed singing, he wouldn’t have been disappointed if he didn’t take the stage on opening night. ‘Hope we don’t get a chance to finish it’; his thoughts were firmly on their eventual liberation. The show, however, went on and the uplifting music was a far cry from Len’s renditions of ‘The Yodelling Bagman’ and ‘All Set and Saddled’ which featured at a kitchen tea at Quantong, Victoria, back in March 1941. Even so, it seems the overall result was a polished performance. According to the official history of RAAF operations in the Second World War, the choir’s ‘most ambitious’ project resulted in ‘an excellent performance’.

Len Netherway, Stalag Luft III, 1943.

Messiah program, 1944. Courtesy of Mike Netherway.

Despite his hopes of seeing Uncle James at Christmas time, George Archer was still in Stalag Luft III and, on 17 December 1944, instead of celebrating with family and friends, he was writing about the ‘very nippy’ weather and anticipating ‘a White Christmas’. The camp had suffered severe rationing for months but even so, he was planning a good celebration. ‘After many weeks of saving’ and scrimping enough ingredients to work with, ‘I made the Mess Christmas cake last week—14 lbs—From appearances it’s excellent and we now await the day to bash it’.

At 21 and a half pounds, Bruce Lumsden’s cake was bigger than George’s, but then, with 18 men in his mess in the Belaria Compound, it had to go further. But it was just as precious. Representing diligent scrounging and careful husbanding from Red Cross parcels, it included a chocolate D-bar, semolina, crumbled American biscuits, raisins, prunes, sugar, molasses, margarine, Klim powdered milk, four 4 cups of pre-cooked barley, a tin of orange juice, a spoonful of coffee, crumbled Reich bread and a pinch of salt. Iced cakes may have been long-banned in England, but not so in Stalag Luft III. ‘The cake was iced, of course’, recalled Bruce. ‘Loaf sugar was ground fine using a bottle as a roller. Then one pound of sugar was mixed with one pound of margarine and 4 ozs. of Klim to make an icing that spread easily and did not run.’ As if such culinary magnificence wasn’t enough. ‘For some reason that I cannot now explain, the cake was given a filling’, consisting of chocolate, sugar, molasses and margarine.

Bruce Lumsden, before Kriegiedom.

The recipe for the 21+ pound cake, recorded by Bruce Lumsden’s roommate, Cy Borsht. Courtesy of Cy Borsht.  

East Compound’s Harry Train, who had already had two Christmases in captivity, experienced his ‘first sober’ one in Germany in 1944. ‘The Group Captain gave parole that there would be no more brews and in any case food has been rather short for anything like that.’ (It seems that not everyone honoured Group Captain Wilson’s request. Canadian Ray Silver, in his memoir The Last of the Gladiators, recalled that they had ‘quite a bash’ on Christmas Eve after drinking their home made brew, and Welshman Ken Rees recorded in Lie in the Dark and Listen that on Christmas Day ‘we started on the hooch, complimented by a tiny amount of weak and tasteless beer supplied by the goons’.)

Harry Train in Sydney, pre-embarkation. Courtesy of Peter Mayo.

Instead of the (by now usual) half Red Cross parcels, ‘we went on to full parcels for Xmas week’. They were supplemented by the very welcome American parcels which ‘arrived in the nick of time’. Harry’s room shared the unheard of luxury of ‘six Xmas parcels and two ordinary ones’. Their festive spoils included 12 ounces of turkey and some Vienna sausages’ and Harry considered it ‘quite the best meal I have had in Germany’. Recognising that ‘one’s stomach shrinks or something’, Harry and his friends sensibly split their Christmas dinner over two meals ‘and coped all right, but most of the messes who kept it for one “ginormous” bash couldn’t finish the meal’. 

Contents of an American Christmas parcel, 1944.

Some managed to finish their meal, but they suffered for it. Bruce Lumsden recalled how his mess fell to the lure of tin plates ‘laden with a repast that seemed royal to our starving eyes for its abundance and to our unaccustomed palates for its tantalising flavours’. He and his friends could not help but give into gluttony, even when they ‘began to receive internal warnings’ that they would have to pay for it. ‘For months we had not tasted tea, and so a mug of hot, strong Orange Pekoe tea was the fitting climax. But hardly was it drunk, before one after another was seized with severe pains and gripping cramps, and, struggling away from the table, each man climbed painfully into his bunk where he lay writhing and groaning.’ Despite their agony, it had been worth it. ‘There were pains, but there were no complaints.’

Bruce Lumsden post-Christmas ‘bash’ with full tummy. Courtesy of Margaret and Jamie Bradbeer.

Syd Wickham’s mess were not as diligent as George Archer and Harry Train at saving for future feasts. They tried hard, ‘through economic use of food by community sharing’ and ‘usually had a small reserve for Christmas or special occasions’ but they often had to raid the stores when parcels were scarce. When their reserves were almost depleted, they called a meeting to decide whether they would ‘eat the precious remaining morsels or re-ration to extend it for another few days’, thus scotching plans for any prospective big bash. They never got as far as voting because Les Dixon ‘usually came out with the only religious quotation I ever heard from him “let us eat it now, The Lord Will Provide”’. And so, they put their trust in God ‘because he was so persuasive. Miraculously within a day or two the Lord fulfilled his promise, new parcels would arrive’. 

Syd Wickham, Stalag Luft III, 1942.

Les might have had an ulterior motive for wanting to eat everything at once. Some time ago, in another camp where conditions were even worse and rationing even direr, Les had been saving up a potato for his birthday, because, according to Justin O’Byrne, it was ‘something to look forward to’. Every time he came across a bigger one, he swapped it, and ate the smaller one because ‘he wanted to celebrate it by having a bigger potato’. Les was desperately counting the days down until he could savour his birthday treat when a fellow prisoner, not realising that ‘thou shalt not steal’ was perhaps the key Kriegie commandment, swiped it and ate it. ‘It was the unforgiveable thing for anyone to steal anything else from a fellow prisoner.’ Justin O’Byrne recalled Les’ reaction: ‘…the ferocity that Les used on showing his anger at having lost his potato! He got [the thief] down, and we had to physically drag him away from his throat, because of his anger in this man doing such a dastardly thing’. Without condoning the theft Justin tried to be even handed about the incident. ‘…it gives an idea of the relativity of values, you know, of life itself, how it’s a primitive and basic thing to have food when you’re hungry; your stomach needs food’. And so, perhaps Les had learned from bitter experience that you ate what you could, when you could. 

Les Dixon, Oflag XXB, Schubin. Courtesy David Archer. 

Treats were important and made Kriegie life better. Syd Wickham didn’t record the arrival of the welcome American parcels for Christmas 1944 but he did remember that season’s special treat. With the temperature down to minus 15 degrees, it was just right for making ice cream. ‘With Christmas a day away, we made a thick mixture of powdered milk and water, threw in a little sugar, very little, and mixed it up in our water jug.’ Then, they packed the jug in ice, in their coal box and left it outside the window. After it started to freeze, the denizens of East Compound’s ‘Australia House’, all took it in turns to beat it up into an aerated mixture, which, happily for the hungry crew, increased the quantity. Then, left outside overnight, voila! ‘Ice cream—of sorts’. 

Klim (‘milk’ reversed) powder: an essential ingredient for Kriegie ice cream. Lifted from ‘the web’ but I forgot to save the reference. Sorry.

Despite depleting their store cupboard, ‘Australia House’ still managed a Christmas cake—of sorts. On the big day, Tom Walker crushed up some soda biscuits and mixed the crumbs with raisins, condensed milk and any other ‘delectable items’ they could scrounge. Along with items from their normal half parcel, ‘the meal looked good’. Sadly, Syd didn’t have a chance to savour it. The water pool had frozen over beautifully and so Les and Syd decided to don their ice skates before dinner. ‘I was twirling about trying something fancy or just putting on an act with plenty of room to move as we were the only two there, when a couple of fighter aircraft flew low overhead.’ Les saw them and cried out ‘look!’ Syd glanced up quickly, over-balanced and fell flat on his face. The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the edge of his bunk, skates still on, with a grazed and bleeding nose and split and swollen lips. He was in such a state that he didn’t feel like eating, and ‘so I sat and watched my roommates eat their Christmas Dinner’. Happily, they didn’t scoff all of it. They saved Syd’s share, ‘but it was days before I could eat it.’ 

Les Dixon and Tom Walker, Oflag XXI B, Schubin, 1942. Courtesy of Anne O’Byrne.

Syd Wickham and Justin O’Byrne, Oflag XXI B, Schubin, 1942. Courtesy of Anne O’Byrne.

As Syd recovered from his non-combat wounds, others displayed more success on the ice rink. After having ‘a very good Christmas here despite being behind the wire’, Colin Phelps noted that ‘the big ice rink is in full swing and we had music from an amplifier’. So popular had the rink become that, three days after Christmas, ‘there was skating while it was snowing’. There was also a ‘small fun fair using cigarette currency. I won seven hundred on a horse race’. 

Colin Phelps, Stalag Luft III, 1944.

As his first Christmas in captivity loomed, North Compound’s Alec Arnel was looking homewards and, on 11 November 1944, imagined that his school teacher sweetheart, Margery, would be ‘thinking of Xmas and a well-earned vac[ation]’. His thoughts then returned to Stalag Luft III and a Christmas with few of the trimmings. ‘Mmmm. I could go for a turkey and plum pud in a big way. Talking about pud our parcel shortage has called for ingenuity in the cooking department. One outcome is a Reich-bread pud which has to be seen to be believed. However it helps to fill the aching void.’ But an empty stomach was not the only void he felt. ‘Merry Xmas dear girl. Maybe there will come again a day when the world no longer lies between us at Xmas-tide.’ Alec ‘expected little in the way of Christmas cheer’ and a few weeks later was overwhelmed at his ‘amazing good fortune of receiving nine letters—and what is more important five of them were from the girl with the laughing eyes. These were my first letters in Kriegiedom’—he had been captured on 29 June 1944—and were all forwarded on from my squadron’. Christmas in a prisoner of war camp could never be like it was a home. Even so, the Kriegies did their best and, ‘on Xmas eve we held special church services and sang again the old carols. Our minds wandered far away and nostalgia caused this Xmas to be the quietest most reflective I have ever known’.

Alec Arnel with 451 Squadron Hurricane. Courtesy of Alec Arnel.

Ronnie Baines of North Compound, who had been captured on 18 November 1942, did not expect wonders from his third Christmas as a prisoner of war and, despite the long-term plans for the Messiah performance and the Christmas service, noticed that ‘very few prisoners made any attempts at a “Merry Xmas”’. He was not in a particularly jolly mood as he felt the pinch of the tight rationing. A typical December main meal—taken at 3.30 pm—consisted of two tins of salmon, some boiled spuds and cabbage, a packet of boiled prunes, boiled barley and milk and coffee split between eight men. By 11 December 1944, Ronnie was ‘feeling very hungry’ and was suffering a ‘terrific cold’. On the 23rd, they ‘received our parcels of food, American R[ed] C[ross] very good’ but, with their ‘tin turkey and pudding, sweets and a lot of junk’, they were both ‘too luxurious’ and not adequate. ‘No milk, sugar or biscuits, consequently our hopes of a big meal on Xmas day have been squashed—however we do appreciate what we have.’ In the event, Ronnie’s Christmas dinner, consisting of a six ounce turkey each, a half-pound pudding and tea was ‘quite satisfactory’. No stomach aches for his mess but there was a noticeable downside. ‘Unfortunately the aftermath was no meat for the next 2 days’. 

Ronnie Baines, Stalag Luft III, 1942. 

Ronnie Baines’ fellow prisoners may have expressed annual optimism that they would be home by next Christmas, but by the 27th, Ronnie was in a funk. ‘So another Kriegie Xmas passes, may even have another the rate the brilliant Allied leaders are charging into battle… Sometimes I wonder if we’re ever going to be released.’ Missing his wife, Irene, terribly and bemoaning the ‘miserable’ coal issue, Ronnie’s spirits hadn’t lifted by the end of the year. ‘Last day of 1944, a year full of big hopes and even bigger disappointments. New Year’s Eve passed uneventfully, no chirping around at all.’  

Irene and Ronnie Baines’ wedding day, St Marks Church, Alexandria, Egypt, October 1942. Ronnie was captured on 18 November 1942. Courtesy of Stuart Baines.

Alec Arnel, perhaps feeling less ground down by captivity, had a more optimistic outlook. ‘Soon the New Year will replace the old. There is no doubt as to what my prayer will be. I think every soul who has been touched by war’s repulsive hand will cry “Peace!”’ 

Back in Australia, a young woman was desperately awaiting peace. Evelyn Charles’ sweetheart, Eric Johnston, had gone missing in action on 23 June 1944. Nothing more was heard from him. There was only silence. Despite having no idea whether Eric was alive or dead, she wrote to him on 29 September. ‘It seems years since I have written to you my darling, but I know that by the time this reaches England you will be there to collect it, it’s been a long time but good news is coming through slowly and I am sure that it will be your turn next. … You know dear I am still holding out great hopes of you being home for Xmas.’ Despite knowing she was ‘a bit crazy writing these letters when I haven’t any definite news of you sweetheart’, Evelyn sent another on 2 October because ‘I just know that you are all right and that by the time these reach their destination you will have arrived back safely’.

Eric Johnston, 31 WAG course c1942.

It was a terrible time for Evelyn and, despite her family and work colleagues, she felt alone. So many others had to bear the same grief of not knowing what had happened to their menfolk—all the wives and girlfriends and families of prisoners of the Japanese—and she felt she had no one to share her desperation. Although not overly religious, she was drawn to Melbourne’s St Paul’s Cathedral for comfort. ‘I used to walk in there and I used to sit in the back of the church. There’s always people there, no matter what time you went.’ But one day, while she was sitting quietly, thinking of Eric and hoping he would return safely, her attention was drawn to a couple sitting further up the aisle. ‘She was breaking her heart. Absolutely.’ Evelyn didn’t know ‘whether they were mourning someone or whether they were missing someone. Whether they were like me’, and waiting for news. She wanted to approach them but ‘I couldn’t—maybe it’s all over for them and maybe they know—I wish I could talk to them’ but the raw emotion was too much for Evelyn. ‘I couldn’t stand it. So I got up, I went to work. I had a hell of a day at work, and do you know, I never, ever went back.’ And she didn’t talk to anyone about her despair. ‘You did it on your own. You had to.’

St Paul’s Cathedral, Melbourne. Lifted from ‘the web’ but I forgot to save the reference. Sorry.

What Evelyn did not know was that, after Eric was downed, he had been assisted by the French and then betrayed. He had been sent to Beauvais, Fresnes and finally to Buchenwald Concentration Camp. Somehow, the Luftwaffe discovered that 168 allied airmen had been incarcerated there in appalling conditions. After two months in Buchenwald, the Luftwaffe secured their transfer and Eric arrived in Stalag Luft III’s East Compound on 20 October 1944. It took a while for details to filter through official channels and, just before Christmas, Evelyn heard that Eric had been located. But she didn’t experience elation. ‘I don’t know that I felt anything. I was numb. It was lovely, he’s a prisoner of war. Fine. But is he still alive? Haven’t heard from him.’ And she still didn’t hear from him. ‘He didn’t write. They couldn’t write. I never got any mail from Eric. Not after he was shot down. Oh no, nothing.’ And then, on 30 May 1945, she received a telegram from Eric. ‘Repatriated to England … Am well and fit fondest love darling.’

Courtesy of Evelyn Johnston. 

The war in Europe was over. The Australian airmen prisoners were liberated. Soon they came home and grand welcomes were held for them. Melbourne’s on 10 September for homecoming airmen, including 140 former prisoners of war, was particularly memorable. During a ‘triumphal procession’ the men were treated like celebrities and cheering crowds rushed the cars. ‘The airmen found themselves shaking hands, being kissed and patted, and congratulated while girls begged for sprigs of wattle from the airmen for keepsakes and as the cars moved off again the girls ran alongside still waving and cheering’. 

The Argus (Melbourne),Tuesday 11 September 1945.

The formal reception was at the Melbourne Cricket Ground and Evelyn was there with Eric’s family. She broke away from his parents—they weren’t as fast as she was—and ‘ran up an incline to get up to where … all the boys were’. And then she saw him. And she can still see Eric, over 70 years later. ‘That was a day I’ll never forget. I can see it happening. I can relive it—I only have to shut my eyes and I can relive every second.’ They ran to each other and hugged and hugged, and laughed and cried. ‘There was quite a lot of family there to welcome him home’, but Evelyn was blind to them. ‘Don’t ask me who was there—I didn’t see anybody but Eric. … Didn’t see anybody.’ So intense was her joy at seeing her sweetheart again that ‘I don’t remember when I got to the point of allowing his Mum and Father to say hallo to him. I don’t. Really don’t. I must have, or course. I don’t remember.’ All she remembers is the elation of reunion and ‘the best day of my life’.

The Sun News Pictorial. September 1942. Courtesy of Evelyn Johnston.

A couple of weeks after Evelyn and Eric’s reunion, Bert Comber, who went straight to North Compound after arriving from Italy, wrote to his niece, Mary, from Shrewsbury in Shropshire. ‘Just now I am paying farewell calls to all of the friends I have in this country’ because he hoped that he would soon be on his way back home. He regretted how much he had missed both as an operational airmen and a prisoner of war. ‘While I have been away, your Mummy and Daddy have been sending me pictures of you all and I have noticed how my four little nieces have grown since I left home—Uncle Albert has missed so many of your birthdays and so many Christmases too’. But he hoped that 1944 would be the last Christmas away from his sister Win and her family, and told little Mary that he ‘will be home for this Christmas, and for all of them after that’. But on 10 October 1945, when he should have been ‘on the high seas bound for home’ he wrote to Win to say that ‘the ship I was to go on has been delayed until about 20 October because of the extensive strikes in the shipping world over here. At the moment there seems very little prospect of having these disturbances settled and sometimes I become a little alarmed about not getting home for Xmas—though it is most unlikely that I shall be delayed that long’. His departure was then delayed until 27 October. ‘There have been no departures since 27 September and I am now booked to go on 4 November and to arrive home about 5 December. We have been promised that all Aussies will be home before Xmas’. He didn’t really know whether to believe it or not. ‘The authorities over here have never been able to be really sure however about plans made ahead—such plans have gone astray so often because of complete uncertainty and sudden changes in the shipping position. But they are sure, they say, that things from now on will go according to plan.’ 

Bert Comber, Stalag Luft III, 1943. 

But things didn’t go quite to plan for Bert. Sometime in October, he met and fell in love with Eve. They married on 1 November and shortly afterwards, he finally embarked for Australia, and celebrated Christmas on board the Athol Castle. He arrive in Melbourne on 3 January 1946, followed soon after by Eve.

Once back home, all former prisoners of war—including the Australian Kriegies of Stalag Luft III—tried to put aside their time as POWs with varying degrees of success as they embarked on their new, post-war lives. 

Alec and Margery Arnel, Wesley Church, 8 October 1945. Courtesy of Alec Arnel.

Charles and Beryl Fry, 22 September 1945, Christ Church of England, Bexley, NSW. Courtesy of Pat Martin.  

Eric and Evelyn Johnston, 15 June 1946. Courtesy Evelyn Johnston.

Evelyn and Eric Johnston. Still in love. Taken from the documentary, The Lucky Ones: Allied Airmen and Buchenwald, released in 1994, 50 years after Buchenwald. 

I include a link for one of my favourite Christmas carols. It is a newish version of The Little Drummer Boy by my favourite singer and his Christmas guest, David Bowie. It includes a special wish for the peace that Alec Arnel called for, and which all of the men mentioned in this story—and their comrades—fought for.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADbJLo4x-tk

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ADbJLo4x-tk