Chapter 5

The prisoners were marched half a kilometre to a dilapidated hut where, as they passed through the entry door a blanket, which reeked of the previous users, was pressed into the arms of each prisoner.

The stink of the blanket and the stench of unclean human habitation inside the hut, insulted Gerry's nostrils. It was a stench so foreign to his senses that he felt queasy and he knew that he would never forget it.

From a stack just inside the door they were ordered to take a pannikin, a metal pan with a fold up wire handle used to hold meals.

Prisoners filed along the hut's central aisle where on either side there were two tier wooden bunks built against the walls. Caked filth crusted on the floors around the wooden bases of the bunks and bed fluff and dust wafted in the drafts of air highlighted by the shafts of sunlight beaming through the windows.

A tall German sergeant walked down the aisle waving them to choose a bunk where they dumped their blanket and pannikin.

"Remember your bunk place and take care of your blanket and pannikin, if you lose them they will not be replaced," his broken Dutch was not understood by every prisoner. Those that did understand him quietly interpreted for the others.

"Everyone outside."

"When will we get something to eat," Gerry asked in his simple German.

The officer, his peaked cap making him appear two inches taller than his six feet, advanced towards Gerry and raising his arm he hit him across the side of the head with his open hand. Staggering back, with his ear ringing and his hand holding the side of his stinging face, he looked up with hatred at the German officer.

He closed the distance between them, his hand resting on his pistol holster, "You will not speak unless you're spoken to. Now hold your tongue and get outside."

Gerry brought himself to his full height and with his shoulders squared he moved away from the officer and hurried outside. From inside the hut he heard a man scream and turning he watched as two soldiers, with metre long batons, beating a prisoner who was slow to obey. He came stumbling down the stairs and fell to the ground where they continued beating him.

Ever vigilant soldiers with their rifles slung on their shoulders marched the prisoners, down the street and into a hut where they were issued with numbered, striped uniforms and circular caps. Ordered to change and leave their clothing on a heap they were then pushed onto stools and their hair was shorn from their heads.

Then they were pushed outside the hut to wait until all of the prisoners were processed. The cold wind caused Gerry to shiver and he placed his cap on his head. As he looked around he thought that now all prisoners looked the same, even their faces had lost their distinctiveness.

The sergeant ordered the prisoners onto the road and they returned to their hut and picked up their pannikins. Marched a further two hundred metres; they filed into a large hall. There were many long tables that were bolted to the floor and long stools were arranged alongside them.

Gerry saw a serving area and kitchen at the left wall with large steaming pots sitting on gas rings being stirred by men who wore prison garb with their sleeves rolled up, the heat from the gas stoves keeping them warm.

'Here comes dinner and I'll bet it's as coarse as their soldiers," thought Gerry.

One by one the prisoners filed past the serving area. A ladle of stew was dumped into their pannikins. Further on they picked a hunk of stale bread from a pile alongside the servers; picking up a spoon they moved on to a table.

Gerry sat, his exhausted body slumped down, his nose smelled the unappetising odour of the stew and his spirit sagged. He stuffed his mouth with stale bread and as he chewed he wondered what Lien was doing. Quickly he switched to other thoughts, it was a defensive change because he was unsure that he would cope if he dwelt on Lien too long. He remembered stealing the German guardhouse with his friend Kees and he felt better.

He lifted a spoon of grey stew into his mouth and knew that he should swallow it quickly before it made him retch.

As each prisoner finished he left his spoon on the table and filed outside to wash his pannikin in a tub of grey water.

Gerry was surprised to see that it would soon be dark. In the darkening distance he heard a blast from an air horn and saw many hundreds of prisoners streaming from factories, moving further away into the camp.

The sergeant led the way to another large building that he would learn was a part of the production planning and control for the many factories. They filed into the factory building and were massed to one side. He watched as the sergeant spoke to a number of men dressed as civilians. Four of the civilians accompanied him back to the prisoners. Guards meanwhile were dividing the prisoners into four groups of about a hundred men.

A civilian stopped at Gerry's group, "My name is Farber and you will address me as Herr Farber. I want to know how many of you are tradesmen or apprentices, you will raise your hands."

'You speak good Dutch Farber, I wonder where you learned it, ' Gerry thought. He raised his hand together with about sixty others in his group. The guards immediately moved those who had not raised their hands and they were taken outside.

Farber continued sifting and dividing the men into smaller groups. Those with metal working skills were led away and Gerry did not see them again.

His prisoner number was recorded and with the rest of his group he was marched back to the sleeping hut.

He was ordered to take his blanket and pannikin and wait outside with thirty others. It was cold and his rough prisoner's garb offered little protection against the wind.

Ten minutes later a covered truck stopped at the hut and they were ordered aboard. Out of the wind he felt warmer and as the truck's back flap dropped down he wondered nervously where he would end up.

It was a short trip; he guessed that they were still inside the perimeter of the large camp. The canvas flap was raised and a guard called prisoner's numbers and they left the truck. Only six prisoners remained and the truck moved off again; travelling a short distance it stopped again and Gerry and another prisoner's numbers were called. They disembarked quickly, the air was colder now.

The guard marched them to a small hut and when they were inside Gerry saw that it was sleeping quarters for about ten prisoners. The single beds were arranged dormitory style, cleaner than the hut that he had come from. He found a vacant bed, kicked off his camp shoes, and fell on the bed. Roughly pulling the blanket around his shoulders he fell asleep.

He was wakened by loud noises and shouting, he felt that he had slept only a short while but the light through the barred windows told him that it was dawn.

The guard stopped beating his rifle against the door when he saw that all prisoners were now standing. He marched them fifty metres down the street and into a large hall that Gerry decided was a large cafeteria.

Gerry had not spoken since his arrival except to ask for food for which he was punished. He had also seen the punishment given to others for talking.

Looking around to see if he was being observed, "What did you do for a living," he quietly asked his fellow prisoner.

"I was a cook," he said out of the side of his mouth, "and you?"

"Apprentice baker."

"Quiet!" the guard yelled.

Then he led them through a side door to a large food preparation area.

For the next three months Gerry worked in the baking section of the big kitchen as an assistant to Martijn Leven, a pastry maker and bread baker who taught him how to bake bread.

He never went hungry although his main diet was plain he was always able to sample other foods that were intended for the civilian staff. He and Martijn were not closely supervised because of the early start to their day at two a.m. and they finished at two or three p.m. when they would trudge back to the sleeping hut.

Martijn's skills with pastry surprised him when he baked a full chess set. Gerry wondered about their usefulness and when they were back in their sleeping hut he asked him.

"In their present condition they wouldn't last for one game but watch this," he said.

Tying a thin thread around each piece he pulled a jar from under his bed, it held a small quantity of green paint.

"Where did you get the paint?"

"A friend who works in the munitions factory. Keep an eye on the door for me."

He rolled his mattress down to the foot of his bed then he tied each piece to the wooden bed slats. He took the lid from the jar of paint and lying on the floor he lifted the jar and immersed each piece.

"Why are you painting them all the same color," Gerry asked.

"Because I have twice as much green paint as I do of white," Martijn said holding up a smaller jar of white paint.

Every day for two weeks, after he arrived back in the kitchen Martijn dipped the pastry chess pieces; then with a sliver of shale as a fine file and a shard of broken glass he squared the bases and ground the irregularities off each piece. Finally he dipped half of the pieces in white paint.

For the following six months, after their work for the day, he taught Gerry how to play chess but he never won a game against Martijn. Disappointed at his lack of success, he started to lose interest but he was surprised when Martijn told him that he had won championships in France and Germany before the war.

"So keep trying Gerry, because if you win you will have beaten a champion."

"One day I might just do that."

"I won't let you win because that would be trickery, but one day if you keep learning, you will beat me. I can see it now, you're smart enough."

Gerry heard many rumours that Jewish prisoners were being whisked away and executed but he tried not to dwell on them, because of the dreadful fear that pervaded him. The number of people that thought that he was Jewish made him constantly apprehensive warping and twisting him as he developed his ability to survive. When he saw diseased prisoners he unconsciously avoided any contact with them knowing that if he caught dysentery or typhus he would be dead and few would know of his passing.

As the months dragged by he thought less and less about Lien and the savagery of the discipline and brutality that he witnessed, blunted him. He found that his feelings for the now unattainable Lien were fading into the background of his mind. Sometimes, when he did think about her he could not remember her face anymore. At these times he became dejected and he knew that if he were to survive then he had to stay optimistic, as difficult as it was at times. Fortunately, his job kept him away from the most sadistic day guards who seemed to take pleasure from beating prisoners on the slightest impulse.

Gerry's physique had changed, instead of his gawky thin necked appearance he had filled out, there was little fat on his body but his arms were strong and his chest deep and despite the deprivations he was now just under six feet tall.

After work, as he walked out through the eating hall, Gerry noticed that Herr Farber would sit alone eating in the same place. Gerry had heard that he was the Engineering Director, a man of considerable importance and influence in the camp. He would purposely pass by his table thinking that Herr Farber might be able to help him in some way. It was his fantasy but Herr Farber did not recognise him.

But on this particular day as he passed Herr Farber's table he spoke.

"Good afternoon Herr Farber," Gerry said bowing his head slightly in deference.

Herr Farber looked up as Gerry bowed slightly, "Good afternoon, my boy." He continued eating.

The next day Gerry repeated his greeting and Herr Faber looked up from his meal, "Do I know you son?"

A guard stationed at the entrance saw Gerry in his striped prison garb talking to the Engineering Director and hurried over to move Gerry away but Herr Farber dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"No Herr Farber I just work here."

"You speak reasonable German but where do you come from?"

"Amsterdam, Herr Farber."

"Holland, I used to work in Holland, in Eindhoven at a large electrical plant. You don't mind if we speak Dutch do you?"

"When I first heard you speak I wondered where you had learned Dutch so well."

Herr Farber chuckled, "Yes they were good times before this rotten war."

He looked around nervously and satisfied that he was not overheard he asked, "How long have you been here?"

"About ten or eleven months maybe a year, I think. It's hard keeping track of time."

Herr Farber finished his meal and standing he said, "I'll see you around. What's your name by the way?"

"Gerry Raymer, Herr Farber."

Gerry did not see Herr Farber for the next week although he looked for him everyday. When he did see him again he was eating with others but the following day when he walked by his table where he was eating alone.

"Good afternoon, Herr Farber," Gerry said with a slight nod of the head.

"Good day to you Gerry," he replied in Dutch, a smile on his face.

Gerry spoke to Herr Farber every time he saw him sitting alone and their conversation extended to many minutes each time they met. Gerry never sat down in deference to Herr Farber and it would have been unthinkable anyway. Eventually, the guard at the door gave up watching him closely.

It had been a long hard day for Gerry, he was tired and dejected but as he passed Herr Farber he greeted him as he always did. He was surprised when he beckoned him closer.

"How would you like to be out of this terrible place," he asked.

"Herr Farber?" Gerry was surprised. He had come to think that his term as a prisoner was never-ending.

"I have a country estate and I want you to work for me. It would be hard work but nothing like this."

"Herr Farber, I think I must be dreaming."

"Just tell me yes or no," he said impatiently.

"Of course it's yes but I don't know how..."

"I will arrange it. You mustn't tell anyone about this. I will let you know."

"Thank you Herr Farber," Gerry replied. Unable to suppress his emotions he hurried swiftly out the door. To survive he had become suspicious of everyone and he wondered if this might be a trick that Herr Farber was playing on him.

Back in his sleeping quarters, Martijn was waiting with the chessboard set ready for their game. Gerry realised that he didn't know anything about Herr Farber and wondered if he should tell Martijn. As they started playing, his thoughts were distracting him from his game, 'What if he leads me into a trap and I disappear never to be heard of again.'

"Checkmate!" Martijn cried. "What's wrong with you that's the easiest game I've had with you for a long time."

"I'm just tired and I have strange thoughts, I was just thinking that I might not survive this bloody war."

"Yes youngster, I have the same thoughts too," Martijn replied sadly.

"You're the only person that I trust Martijn and I know that if you and I agreed on something that you would keep your word. I want to make a pact with you, if one of us survives the other will contact the others family and let them know what is was like here."

"I'll do that for you. But let's try to think of other things. I think I'll go to sleep," his shoulders slumped and he breathed out in frustration.

Martijn packed the chess set and put it under his bed and soon he was sleeping. Gerry was unsettled, as he lay awake trying to sleep. The twenty others in the dormitory were sleeping, some snored and he heard an occasional fart as they rolled over.

He came awake at two a.m., Martijn shaking him until he had his feet on the ground. He dressed and then together they shambled off to work.

At two p.m. Gerry left the kitchen, his exhaustion, his anxiety about his future had fogged his mind but as he passed Herr Farber's table he beckoned him closer.

"Tomorrow morning just after you start work, make some excuse to be outside the dining hall. A guard will be waiting for you in a small sedan; go with him and he will drive you from the camp. He will drop you where my contact will be waiting to drive you to my estate. Just remember - tell no one."

"Thank you Herr Farber," Gerry said quietly and walked away.

The next morning Martijn shook him awake, he dressed and walked with him to the kitchen, he was yawning constantly. After he had packed the baking tins for an oven load, he turned to a kitchen hand, "I need some cold air to wake me up, I won't be long."

He went out through the dining hall, the guard watching him as he drew closer to the exit, "I just need some fresh air for a minute."

The guard waved him through, he knew Gerry by sight and he wasn't regarded as a troublemaker.

In the cold dark night outside he saw the sedan parked thirty metres away and he hurried toward it. He went to the front passengers door and settled himself into the seat and closed the door, the driver started the car, he did not speak and he did not look at Gerry. Three minutes later they came to the main gate of the camp only to be waved through by the guard on duty. He thought about Herr Farber's influence and he thought that it must be considerable.

They drove into the countryside and on a back road a waiting car flashed its blackout-muted lights.

Gerry moved to the waiting car and in the passenger's seat, he glanced sideways at the driver. It was a man in his mid twenties, perspiration beaded on his forehead and upper lip, he looked nervous, tense.

"I'm Gerry Raymer..."

"I know who you are you can call me Manfred. I won't answer any of your questions, I'm simply doing Herr Faber a favour by driving you to his farm."

"Is it far away," Gerry asked.

"You'll see," Manfred answered tersely, unfriendly. It was as if he were willing Gerry to be silent.

They travelled for fifteen minutes when Manfred stopped the car. In the far distance Gerry thought that he could see a church spire, which meant that a village was nearby but there were no lights; blackouts were rigidly enforced.

Manfred beckoned to Gerry to get out and they walked to the rear of the car. He raised the trunk lid and turning to Gerry, "Strip off," his voice strained.

Gerry wondered why he should strip but when Manfred produced a change of clothes from an old jute sack he undressed quickly.

Manfred shoved his prison garb into the sack and hid it in the spare tire well.

When they were seated in the car Manfred reached into the glove box and taking a cap he shoved it into his hand.

"Put the cap on, you're too easily identified as a prisoner with that short hair."

He reached into the glove box again and extracting a small document he pressed it into Gerry's hand.

"It's your identification; you are now Gerry Landen. You were born in Frankfurt am Maine and you are eighteen years old."

He turned on the map light.

"Read the document, memorise the details and keep repeating them to yourself until you become Gerry Landen."

Gerry read the document four times before Manfred turned the light off.

"Where were you born?"

"Amsterdam."

"No! You fucking fool this is deadly serious. Get it Right! Where were you born?"

Manfred asked many questions but Gerry had memorised the document completely and was not able to fault him.

"Make sure that you carry your identification at all time," Manfred said before he lapsed again into silence.

Manfred drove without the aid of the headlight diffusers that deflected a weak light downwards onto the road. He drove on back roads where frequently ruts jolted the car and they bounced around until he corrected the course. They had driven for two hours when he turned onto a short drive and stopped at a set of gates. He alighted with Gerry while he swung the gates open then he drove through and waited while Gerry closed the gates behind them. As he was returning to his seat he heard dogs barking. Ahead in the darkness he could see the outline of a large old two-storey house.

Manfred followed the dirt road for fifty metres then it swung around the back of the house; he braked and drove into an open garage where two other small cars were parked.

Gerry thought that the night seemed darker and colder as they walked to the back door of the house where Manfred thumped loudly on the door. A large dog charged out of the darkness barking; it sniffed Manfred who patted it, quietening it; then it sniffed Gerry as the back door opened and a woman peered out around it. Gerry caught a quick glimpse of her before she moved back into the darkness.

"Good morning Manfred, everything went as planned?"

"Of course."

"Take him to number two hut and bed him down with the others. He must be exhausted. We'll talk later this morning."

The door closed and Manfred pointed the way down a cement path where he stopped at the second small building that reminded Gerry of a small chalet, opening the door Manfred stepped into the darkness and lit a match. Finding a lantern near the door he lifted the glass and lit it. Adjusting the flame he kept the light low and beckoned Gerry inside.

"These rooms are clean so take the bed over near the window and sleep for a few hours but take your boots off," Manfred said in hushed tones.

In the dim light Gerry saw three men sleeping soundly. As he sat on the edge of his bed removing his boots, Manfred blew out the lantern and left the hut closing the door quietly behind him.

The lack of sleep over the last few days caused Gerry to sleep soundly and when he awoke it was to the sounds of men moving quietly around him. With the position of the sun he guessed that it was about eight in the morning. He watched as they pulled on their clothes and squeezed into their boots. None of them had shaved heads or short hair and he assumed that they were not refugees.

An old man seeing that Gerry was now awake stood over his bed and thrusting a gnarled hand at him he introduced himself.

"My name is Johan and who might you be young fellow?"

"Gerry Landen..."

"No we only use first names here, just remember that son."

The man looked Jewish, he couldn't estimate his age but he was old, and Gerry wondered as he looked at the others.

They introduced themselves as Pieter and Ludovic. Gerry guessed that they were about the same age as his father. Johan opened the front door and the side windows letting cold air blow in. Gerry shivered as he pulled his boots on. Outside he heard other men talking quietly.

"Come on Gerry it's time for breakfast," Johan called.

A total of eight men emerged from the three huts and together they walked up the cement path to the main house, Manfred met them at the door and they were ushered into a spacious kitchen and seated. Gerry was confused, if Herr Farber wanted him to work on his farm then what did these other men do. He remained silent; he knew it was wise and perhaps he might learn more that way.