22
By mid-1943, Ralph’s work as Übersetzer was getting in the way of escape planning. His primary duty was to help prisoners slack off. If a prisoner didn’t want to work, he milled about with a confused look. When a German foreman directed him to get back to work, the reply would be ‘Nicht verstehen’ – don’t understand. A great deal of time would be wasted while The Crow was brought to translate, and then eventually work would resume.
Ralph didn’t last long as Übersetzer. Vertrauensmann Bill Fagan received a ‘Dear John’ letter. Separated from him for years, and with no end of the war in sight, Bill’s fiancée had broken off their engagement. Break-up letters were so common that there was a noticeboard in the main XVIIIA camp that was full of them, posted as a form of group therapy.1 The appearance of ‘Dear Johns’ always caused ripples: even where relationships had been rock solid, years of captivity brought doubts.
Bill Fagan folded in on himself, wouldn’t leave his bunk or talk to anyone. This was a problem. The camp guards and foremen had to be stood up to with threats of the Red Cross: ‘Keep this up, and I’ll have the entire Swiss legation of the Red Cross jumping down your throat. You’ll lose your cushy posting and wind up freezing on the Eastern Front.’ A camp meeting was called, but Bill was so distraught he couldn’t bring himself to attend. No one else fancied the job, and Ralph was the only person with the nerve and the German to shout down Nazis, so The Crow was elected as Vertrauensmann unopposed.2 To the Germans, he would now be Herr Vertrauensmann. The prisoners did not know that they had given Ralph a licence to release a reconstructed version of Rory. Ralph’s public persona was now The Crow. Leslie Laws, who had passable if not fluent German, took Ralph’s place as the Übersetzer.
The Crow’s first act was to form ‘The Combine’, a collective pantry of Red Cross parcels.3 On a volunteer basis, prisoners would submit their parcels to The Crow; cooks appointed by the prisoners would use the German ration and supplement it with tinned meat, sugar or margarine from the parcel, and a cauldron of strong tea on the side. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all provided on this basis. Half of the hygiene and confectionery items were kept by the men. All other items with black-market value also went to The Combine. Non-smokers donated all their cigarettes, smokers only half. The real high-value commodity was coffee: few in the British Empire were coffee-drinkers yet, but Europeans couldn’t get enough of it, and for most Germans coffee had been unobtainable even before the war. The Crow had a larder filled with soap, toothpaste, chocolate, cigarettes, and coffee, and he was able to buy anything he could get from local farmers, usually by bartering with these goods. He ran a double-entry ledger; all goods had to be signed in and out by a prisoner and countersigned by Herr Vertrauensmann. There were two padlocks on the store room door and only Herr Vertrauensmann had both keys. The produce acquired was consumed as fast as possible, thus destroying the evidence of black market trading.4 In all, he and his comrades’ diet was hearty and nutritious; they were probably the best-fed men in town. The Crow was quickly also known as The Con Man; cultivating an image to all and sundry of being content with his lot, keen to turn a quid.
The Crow’s second venture was, as he had done back in Australia at Wudinna, to build a swimming pool. In the last hot days of 1943 part of the nearby river was dammed to give the crew a place to cool off. Then came the wonderful news of Italy’s surrender. But celebrations, and maybe hopes of a rapid Allied advance and liberation, were short-lived. The Allied attack through southern Italy bogged down, and Germany had asserted control over Italy faster than anticipated. The Germans were now transferring the occupants of Italian POW camps to the Reich.
On 10 October fifty of these prisoners arrived in 3GW.5 Most had been taken prisoner in North Africa; a handful were from the Allied invasion of Sicily only a few months earlier. The Crow made the newcomers welcome and gave a speech explaining the nature of the camp and The Combine. He didn’t push the latter too hard: most new prisoners were protective of their parcels. On the other hand, membership of The Combine meant a cooked breakfast; the alternative was a generic German ration topped with uncooked Red Cross tinned meat. Most came round after a few weeks.6
Earlier in September, 3GW had been dissolved altogether. The crew would now work for a firm called Fritz Schlie that subcontracted for the German state and be put to work reballasting the railway line that ran from Maribor west to Klagenfurt.7 They were now Arbeitskommando 1046GW. Still living in the Šentilj barracks, the crew had a four-and-a-half-hour return journey – changing trains in Maribor – every day, to whichever part of the line needed work.8
Becoming 1046GW brought a new camp Kommandoführer. This responsibility usually rested with a mid-ranking NCO of the 891st Landesschützen Battalion. It was always an Austrian man in his forties or fifties, who was not at risk of being sent to the front, but the position changed hands roughly every six weeks. Kommandoführers in Štajerska tried to get transferred back to Austria as soon as possible. The prisoners identified two types. There were the ‘screaming skulls’, and those who believed in gemütlichkeit (cosiness). The ‘skulls’ resented having to spend time among enemies of the Reich and Slavs; the ‘gemütlichs’ resented being away from Graz, where the 891st was headquartered.
Johann Gross of Vienna, however, was neither of these. Some of the men jested that ‘this one’s come all the way from Whitechapel’ – referencing the Jewish community of London’s East End – and ‘Whitechapel’ was the name that stuck. Gross looked the antithesis of Nazi depictions of ‘Aryans’. Even under an Unteroffizier’s* cap, Johann’s baldness was evident. So was a smattering of curly dark hair on the sides. He wore small round glasses and had a heavy five-o’clock shadow.9 Gross surveyed the camp, then established himself in an office near the barracks. A short time later, a guard shouted for Herr Vertrauensmann. The new Kommandoführer would like to see him, The Crow was told.
Ralph freshened himself up and dropped by The Combine to put some coffee grounds in his pocket – from trading in town, he knew the aroma was helpful in difficult negotiations. The Combine offered the prisoners more money than they could spend, without even counting the wages paid by the Reich, and much depended on having the Kommandoführer onside. Black marketeering may have been rife – and since Stalingrad the value of Red Cross goods had been reaching absurd levels – but it sometimes attracted the death penalty.10
Having been invited in and offered a seat, Herr Vertrauensmann sat, noting the cup of ersatzkaffee on the desk and a thin cigarette in the ashtray. They probed each other’s background; Kommandoführer Gross seemed particularly pleased with Herr Vertrauensmann’s clerical experience. Herr Vertrauensmann mentioned that prisoners were permitted Sunday recreation walks, during which small, discreet trades may have occurred with the local farmers. If such Sunday activities resumed, the guards could, of course, take a portion of these trades. Herr Vertrauensmann was, naturally, just considering everyone’s health. It turned out that Herr Kommandoführer had already had discussions with his guards on this matter. A price was agreed: a tin of coffee per excursion for Herr Kommandoführer – equal to several weeks’ wages for an Unteroffizier. Herr Vertrauensmann assured Herr Kommandoführer that the paper trail would stand scrutiny: all Red Cross goods would have a legitimate POW consumer signing them out of the store. Gross was satisfied and The Combine had a handy new partner.
With Gross’s help, The Combine would expand. Then, come spring, Ralph could think about escape. The western railway line they’d be working on lay south of the Drava River, against Pohorje, a perfect first step into the wilds.