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Josef
Nowak: Rhine meadow camp of Rheinberg
Chapter 16: The first
piece of bread
Delivery of bread -- remembering bombing of flak of
Bemerode near Hanover in 1944 - also the kitchen was
bombed -- white bread -- slice of bread is stored
until evening
from:
Josef Nowak: Seeded on the field. War prisoner
in the home land.
(German: Mensch auf den Acker gesät.
Kriegsgefangen in der Heimat, 1956)
translated by Michael Palomino (2013)
[Supply of bread in
the camp of Rheinberg]
Five weeks precisely the people in Rheinberg had to wait
for the first little piece of bread. The man who was
serving "for the home" was bringing the drinking water and
the washing water, and then one day was also the rumor
that bread should be given. He was not believed much for
this saying. If he had seen the bread personally? No, this
not, but he had spoken with someone who had heard about it
from a third person that a fourth person had heard from a
fifth person that at the train station had come freight
cars with bread. Like this it was. We remained lazy lying
in the sun.
But yes, it seemed that there was developing a big unrest
in our camps now. The kitchen was almost invisible by the
time because people was jamming there very tight before
the wire blocking any view with their gray backs. We were
drawing our spy by lot. The lot hit me.
I was walking slowly to the wall which had been installed
there, and I found a little gateway bringing my head
through other two heads so near to the wire as possible.
Bread! Really, there is bread!
There was a ring of prisoners around the bread as if there
would be Alaska wolves forming a ring abound a campfire of
gold diggers. In this way they men were sieging the bread
which [p.150] was properly prepared like bricks on a pile.
Oh, we were watching this bread, growling, champing,
licking our lips. No machine gun had been able to disperse
us. This was much bread, as much as it was impossible to
be eaten by the "American" soldiers terrorist troops. This
must be determined for us.
Now I should return to my hole giving the other poors the
good news. But I could not separate from this view of
bread. I had to honor it attentively. God knows, I was
almost making squats, I had not wondered at all when such
ones had been ordered.
Some hours later we were all starring on the bread n an
attentively and hopefully way. Kitchen bulls ["American"
fatties of 200 kg] were going back and forth but they did
not do anything. They were just liking to make another
joke letting us wait a little bit. They could afford it.
Anyone of them had a bread under his arms. Mostly it is
also cut already. Also the German camp police which is
making jokes inside makes just a well nourished
impression.
According to the position of the sun lunchtime has passed
since a long time already. Only patience, we will get the
bread before it's raining. Perhaps they have problems
inside if butter or ham should be added [p.151].
When time was just heading to the hour of rain, they will
not let soften the bread with water first. When they would
do this, then earth would split on the order of God and
these blasphemers would be devoured all.
And what will be prepared in the kettles? Now when the
government of Washington sends us some bread time should
have reached a turning point. But they will deliver all
this now what they had rejected to us before. If so anyone
of us could open a food shop with it. Anyway - it cannot
be worse than on November 4 of 1944.
[Remembering November 4, 1944: flak tower in Bemerode
near Hanover was bombed by the allies - also the kitchen
was hit]
We just wanted to have our lunch when the siren was
calling us to our devices and guns. A bomber division was
heading for Misburg one more time. We were shooting
curtain fire with the permission of the Reichsmarschall
[Himmler] on a distance of 20 km. The tubes were glowing
but we had insofar a success that the whole bomber
division was split. The plan with the projected carpet
bombing against the refinery was destroyed. But now two
units of 30 four motored engines were heading to our
battery.
I was exchanging a look with my boss. We understood each
other. The battery should not get to know what was coming
now. Therefore we were shooting to the group which was
passing by in the north. But my telescope is movable. I
[p.152] could head it against the attackers.
-- Smoke signal over battery!
I was sizzling it to my boss.
-- Bomb shafts are opening!
-- Bombs are falling!
Yet six seconds - yet four - yet two -
And then it was crashing over our heads, at the side,
before and behind us as if dozens of little volcanoes were
erupting. Until now the young flak assists at the commando
device were standing like poles. They noticed some minutes
ago already that there would come something heavy. No one
of them did loosen the headphones, no one put down the
voice box microphone for reaching the bunker. It had had
also not much purpose. If the main command post - which
was in concrete - had been hit by the carpet bombing, we
had all together been killed by the walls.
We were turning our heads with helmets to the east, then
to the west, to any direction where the next fountain of
dirt was coming from. A wooden box was thrown near to our
flak tower. This had been the officer's cylinder of the
central latrine device. Crashing the little house was
split and the splinters were blowing up around our faces.
All was raining and hailing down, wooden boards, beams,
stones, dead and living bunnies of the own breed, the dead
body of a swine, bomb splinters, earth, all until the
[p.153] rubble was knee-deep in our main command post.
No cannon was firing any more. All electric cables had
been destroyed. Triumph for the technique. As we were only
handling switch boards, as we are only people managed by
wire, it's sufficient to cut off the wire and all is mute.
The ends of the canons have discovered under masses of
clay. Several handling devices are spilled. The gun with
the name "Bertha" is torn from it's ground and has fallen
over. The tube was hitting the gun leader on the front
like a huge flail. We are looking for him a long time
always in wider circles. When we found him he was dead and
naked. Air twirls had torn him all clothes from his body.
Within eight minutes the whole battery was destroyed. It
did not give any fire during the next few days.
Our street to the flak tower was a field of craters. I
should examine what had happened precisely. When I arrived
the kitchen I was furious. This was really bad news. One
bomb had hit the whole kitchen barrack parting it into
little pieces of firewood. The kettles with meat,
vegetables and potatoes were for the Devil. Fortunately I
had a big repertoire of curses in Swabian and in Italian.
We were saving the injured. then I had heavy work doing
medical services. My Italian [p.154] being trained with
Dante, with Boccaccio, with Leopardi and with Papini was
only hardly enough translating the reports of the wounded
carabinieri to the medical doctors.
Carlo Rizzato, cannoneer with gun Cesar, he had a broken
skull. The unconscious person was brought to a military
hospital. When I wanted to look for him the next day he
was not there any more. Poor Carlo I thought, how you were
longing for your home in Lombardy. After a long
investigation I found out that Carlo was rated to be an
Italian civilian. that's why he had been brought to North
Town (Nordstadt) hospital. It was not possible that a
civilist was in a military hospital suffering and dying.
The I informed the emergency medical sergeant that Carlo
was a legitimate member of German air force with the rank
of a private.
-- What! the affected housefather shouted. Come here with
the guy! I will have big trouble when he is dying here.
I tried to change the mind of the sergeant indicating that
a new transport could be lethal for the injured - but in
vain.
-- Not important for me! the sergeant was snubbing. The
only important thing is that he is dying in an ambulance
of the Wehrmacht at least!
In this moment Holy Spirit was enlightening me.
-- Mr. sergeant, I said, it's just an [p.155] Italian. We
have enough of them. It's not attracting any attention
when someone is omitted. They are not even counting as
soldiers.
Now this argument was good. Perhaps I saved the life of
Carlo with this. I don't know it. After some weeks he was
healthy again.
When we had finished working with the wounded people after
every bombing event the chief was wringing his hands. No
radio was working any more. And what should be our food?
We told him this. But there were the iron rations of
course! But this was a heavy decision for the lieutenant
colonel. Was the situation iron enough? We were speaking
well with him until he was convinced that there was an
emergency case. And then we were eating. There was also
bread in a hermetic case with it.
[Nowak distributing bread in the whole camp cage "Camp
E"]
Bread - I was standing on the wire yet. Today they would
give us bread. There was no threat of bombing for the
bread. We would get it - contemplate it - eat it - - -
We really got it. It was not a black bread, it was not a
crispy rye bread which we were longing for. This bread was
a bread as white as fresh snow, as bleached linen.
This slice - everyone got one slice - was just 1 cm,
perhaps even a little bit thinner.
Now I got a big honor in my earth hole, also in the
neighboring earth holes. From one moment to the other I
was one of the most wanted men [p.156]. When the
"Americans" had investigated my pockets and bags they had
forgotten a little pocket knife in my vest pocket. I had
always fought for it again and again when there was the
temptation to change it for food. But it was a good tool
for making splints with it when there was some wood. I had
withstood to all temptations. Now we were capable to treat
our bread in a decent way parting it in a proper way.
Other groups had to wrench it into pieces and then they
had to weight the pieces with quarrels and curses.
If we were special aristocrats in our hole? I cannot say
this. I only know that we did not eat our slice of bread
like animals but we were contemplating it with deep
respect saving it until it was night and only then we were
eating it with a very special feeling. If we had had a
tabernacle with a golden goblet, there, only there we had
saved the white bread. On this day I conceived the first
time completely why Christs are recognizing the body of
the Lord in the shape of a bread. The odor of the mature
wheat coming out of the bread, this is just a breeze of
the living creation itself. Why we were eating the bread
before the night was separating us? Perhaps we did
consecrate it with our tears before.
When we were eating in the earth hole and the other ones
could only be seen in a vague manner, then [p.157] we were
packing some poor wishes into our tortured heart. They
seemed to be the richness itself:
Eat a piece of dry bread -
living in a stable, sleeping on hey or straw, but with a
roof over the head -
having dry clothes on the body -
sit on a table -
reading a book -
no, now you are already not modest any more, my friend.
When you need a library and a chair and water proof
blanket over your bead, then you have to look that you can
live in a penal workhouse. Eat your bread and keep your
mouth! Even in Stone Age times prisoners of war did not
know any right but the right of the winner of course
[p.158].
^