15
Towards the end of 1941 Ralph and the farm crew were transferred deeper into the Reich. Karl took the group to a northbound train, and they alighted twenty-six kilometres away at Werndorf, a small village at the end of the plain south of Graz. Marching across the river Mur, the prisoners sighted their new home, Arbeitskommando 410GW. It was a glorified pit: a small limestone quarry and cement factory fenced with barbed wire.1 Karl led the column inside, saluted a young corporal, and bade farewell. The prisoners were sad to see the amiable Karl go. He had given them no trouble.
The new guard and camp looked unwelcoming. Hard limestone and wire fences surrounded every side. From a wall of rock, a small conveyor belt ran into a corrugated-iron shed. Across from that stood a timber hut, roofed and walled with tarred paper. The corporal shrieked at the prisoners to proceed to the hut, inside which were a dozen more Imperial prisoners and twenty-four bunk beds. There were no lights, no extra furniture, and no blankets. The only accessory was a small coal furnace, and the existing residents had already claimed the beds nearest to it.
The newcomers settled in as best they could. Though it was still only November, it was already cold. Their work soon proved as tedious as it was miserable. A German sergeant commanded 410GW, but he was seldom seen. Responsibility was left to the corporal, another Sudeten German, dubbed ‘Oozy’ after his eyes, which were large, seeping, and looked on the verge of popping out of his skull.2 If prisoners did not immediately comprehend his orders, Oozy would punch them in the head. As he had a shrill, high-pitched voice and a strong accent, this occurred often. Peter translated as best he could.
Oozy stomped about the quarry, jabbing prisoners with his rifle. To avoid beatings Ralph set himself to learning German orders, even though making out words in the dictionary was difficult in the shortening evening light. Only after several beatings did Ralph convince Oozy that he had a medical exemption from ‘heavy work’ assignments, which led to him being sent not to a different work camp but into the processing shed. Either way, work was miserable. When it stopped raining, it started snowing.
Gerry, Wal, and Peter all worked outdoors smacking at rocks. Ralph sorted stones inside the shed. The prisoners hardly spoke to one another, but Ralph managed to exchange pleasantries with a tall, thin, Australian man, though he seemed reluctant to talk much.3 One of the few recreational activities available outside the hut was to ‘buy’ a conversation. When Oozy was not present, Ralph would offer a Red Cross cigarette to a guard, which bought fifteen minutes of chatting, a small break from labour, and the chance for Ralph to improve his German. Conversations went much like a high-school language class. ‘Hello, my name is Ralph, what is yours? I am twenty-four years old; I worked in a bank. What was your job before the war?’
The guards were baffled by the Australians and New Zealanders. It confused them that men would come so far to fight. As Ralph’s German improved, he learned more of the world outside. Some of the guards told him they were nervous about the Soviets, though most believed that Moscow must be about to fall, a Christmas armistice was imminent, and soon everyone would be able to go home – or at least the Germans could. The news gave the prisoners no cause to cheer.
When Peter was transferred out of 410, Ralph was thrown in at the deep end. The closest thing to a fluent German speaker, he was now the unofficial camp interpreter. It was improving, but Ralph’s German was very one-way: he could speak the words he knew, but understanding anyone else was hard. This led the guards, who spoke in various strong regional accents, to think Ralph spoke better German than he did, and they would rattle off at full pelt, leaving poor Ralph scratching his head.
As winter deepened, the temperature plummeted, as did morale. It was always below freezing, the snow was metres deep, and sometimes it was as cold as -20°C.4 Out in the shallow quarry the prisoners were completely exposed to the elements, and no winter clothing was issued. But before Christmas a new batch of letters came from home. Ralph received two. The first was from Ronte, containing good wishes and gossip. The second was from Ralph’s mother and contained a devastating message. His sister Rita was dead. Her heart, weakened by rheumatic fever, had given out.
Gerry and Wal tried to cheer Ralph up with news of the war. Hitler had made a nationwide address: after the attack on Pearl Harbor, the Americans had declared war on Japan, and now Germany had declared war on America! The mood among the Austrian guards changed; most had relatives there, and few had bad feelings towards the USA.
The good news couldn’t stop Ralph’s mental state deteriorating. It was always so cold, so dark. Stuck in the pit, he hardly ever saw the sun. Haul rocks, process rocks, warm your freezing hands, drink watery soup . . . on and on it went. Shortly after Christmas, Ralph walked off the job. He marched out of the front gate while the guards were at the other end of the compound and left, unchallenged. This was no serious escape attempt; it was a breakdown. Ralph had no food, no money, no documents, a British uniform, sloppy German, and no idea of where he was going. His only possessions were his photos, Karla’s dictionary, and a small New Testament.
In what daylight remained, Ralph beat a path east through the snow and rested in an isolated barn. He slept, but awoke cold and hungry. Guided by his stomach, he walked into the nearest village and was arrested by a local policeman. A guard from Werndorf was picked out to escort him back to Maribor, where he was marched off to solitary confinement. A cup of water and a chunk of bread were pushed through his door. The cell was even colder than Werndorf.