10
A few days later they were told they were moving again, to Germany. Thirty minutes to pack up was the order. It took two minutes: no one owned anything. The prisoners stood on parade in the camp square waiting. Then the move was called off – now it was going to happen in the morning. Wal used the time to steal another loaf – if this was going to be anything like the last journey, the trio would need all the food they could find. Morning came, and when provisions were distributed everyone knew they would move today. Each man was given three biscuits, half a loaf of bread, a tin of meat and a water flask: more food than anyone had seen in two months. They were told it would have to last for two days. Many devoured it all immediately, making themselves sick. The wiser men took nibbles and saved the rest.
Gerry, Ralph, and Wal marched out with the first group. At Thessaloniki railway station they saw the bizarre spectacle of a German naval band. The musicians’ immaculate white and navy uniforms and shining brass and chrome were a stark contrast to the prisoners’ filthy khakis, beards, and messy hair. As the platform filled, the band began to play German marching songs. Those prisoners with some fight left in them tried to sabotage the display with songs of their own. A lone voice cried out, ‘There’s a garden . . . what a garden! Only happy flowers bloom there.’ As tired prisoners joined in to sing ‘Beer Barrel Polka’ the German band faltered. ‘Roll out the barrel, we’ll have a barrel of fun. Roll out the barrel, we’ve got the blues on the run . . .’
Realization dawned on the German band leader – the tune was a hit across Europe, albeit under different names. He turned to his band and shouted, ‘ “Ro-sa-mun-de”! Eins, zwei, eins, zwei!’ All at once, the Kriegsmarine band transformed into a polka act and the brass section hopped to the gay cheers of the prisoners. The chorus grew louder as the guards shepherded the prisoners onto the rolling stock. When ‘Beer Barrel Polka/Rosamunde’ ended, terrific applause broke out.*1
Music was an effective distraction from the imminent privation: more than fifty prisoners were packed into a single carriage. Written in French on the side was ‘40 Hommes ou 8 Chevaux’ – 40 Men or 8 Horses.2 The compartments were bare, save for a single bucket. Ventilation consisted of two small, slatted windows, and the men with more foresight positioned themselves next to those fragments of fresh air.3 When the band ceased its second song, the passengers cried ‘Rosamunde!’ and the music struck up again, until the train was full and departed northwards. There only was enough room for everyone to sit if knees were pressed to chests. To give each other some chance of rest, the men took turns standing and sitting.
With so many crammed inside, the train became an oven during the hot summer days. All the water was gone in a matter of hours. That first night, escape attempts began again. Several men in Ralph’s compartment hacked a hole in the floorboards with pocket knives. When the train reached a slow enough speed, the men lowered themselves through the hole.4 No one else followed; no one else had the strength. Those who remained suffered the repercussions of the escape in the morning. The guards boarded up the escape hole and, with the passengers begging for water, also boarded over the ventilation slats. Water for knives was the deal: the guards said they would only let the prisoners drink if all hidden weapons were surrendered. Pocket knives and razors came tumbling out of the door. In exchange for the loot, two buckets of water were passed in.5
The locomotive groaned on and the train crossed into Yugoslavia. It was day two, but still a very long way to go to the Reich. The train passed first through Niš (in modern-day Serbia), then on to Belgrade. At Belgrade, the Yugoslav Red Cross stood, offering bread, cake, and buckets of lemonade. It would’ve made a fine picnic. The carriage doors opened, and the prisoners waited. Up the platform, a German captain began to run the length of the train. Screaming at the Red Cross workers, he kicked the buckets over to stop the prisoners from taking them. But Ralph’s carriage was right at the back. In her Sunday best, a Belgrade woman managed to thrust lemonade in before the captain’s boot could reach it.6 Later trains had better luck. Some German officers allowed food to get to the prisoners, but there wasn’t enough to go around.7
Sarajevo was day three. The toilet bucket had long since overflowed. Besides, the carriages were too crammed for it to be practical for men to move to the lavatory. Most urinated through gaps in the floorboards. Others would excrete into the meat tins once they had eaten the contents. Much would spill. Shirts were torn up to mop the filth and the rags were then passed along and shoved out of the window or through a suitable crack.8
Dawn of the fourth day. Through a gap in the planks Ralph could see the word ‘Zagreb’ (in modern-day Croatia). They were close to Germany now; he hoped they weren’t headed to Berlin, several more days’ travel. The train followed the Sava river upstream, then turned north to follow the smaller Savinja river. It finally came to a stop in the afternoon. The front half detached and continued further north, to the Austrian town of Wolfsberg, while the back half, including Ralph’s carriage, stayed put. The doors opened, the afternoon light stinging the passengers’ eyes. ‘Alle raus!’ shouted the guards.
Wal was first to disembark. ‘Come on, Poll, Churchie. Let’s get out of this stinking bloody mess.’9 Behind Wal on the platform was a sign that read ‘Marburg an der Drau’. Until a few months previous it had gone by its Slovenian name: Maribor.