The Ultimate Escape

“The Ultimate Escape”

“Damn, that hurt,” grumbled the man hanging on to the back of the bench he is struggling to sit on. David Bell is feeling most uncomfortable; the lorry in which he is a prisoner is being driven very fast. And the handcuffs securing him to the side of the vehicle are chaffing into his right wrist at every turn of the road. To add to his discomfort is the knowledge that he is on the way to the German Concentration Camp Stalag 23 situated north of Osnabruck. Although he appears dishevelled, he is a large man with thick black hair; his face is longish looking with a pair of deep blue eyes and a stubby nose. When he stands up, he reaches a full six feet tall.

This is now late in May 1941; Flight Lieutenant Bell is now the only survivor of his Lancaster Bomber. He had been captured almost as soon as he parachuted to the ground, of the rest that had managed to escape the blazing plane; they had all died from their wounds, mainly burns, soon after capture.

After what seemed like hours, the truck stopped and I heard shouts outside. In my youth, I had spent many summer holidays with the Rinehurt family on their small estate outside Dusseldorf, and so I am fluent in German, what I heard made me realize that we had arrived.

I heard the gates opened, and we drove into the camp and once again stopped. The canvas at the back was opened, and two soldiers with machine guns got in, one of them unlocked my handcuffs, they motioned me to get out.

As I turned after climbing down I was struck violently on the side of my head, dazed, I got up from the ground, and In front of me stood a German Officer, but this man was obviously not a gentleman. He was tapping a short club like stick into his left palm, the stick; he had just hit me with. And no wonder it hurt, although he was only about five foot six tall this man had the widest shoulders I have ever seen, and the look in his eyes was pure hate.

“I am Huptmann Hanns Richmann. The commander of this camp is Oberstleutnant Detrich Harmman, but I am the one that you will answer to, you will not like being brought to me, so don’t break any rules and don’t get ideas of escaping. The only ones that escape from here are dead before they go.”

Before I could reply he had stepped away, and two German soldiers again, with machine guns in their hands, grabbed me forcing me to go past a number of huts towards some gates in a high fence. These were opened and I was shoved through, I heard the gates slam shut behind me. I had arrived.

I realized that my journey was now over, this was Stalag 23. Looking around me, I saw that some distance in front were twenty large huts, positioned in a horseshoe shape with two buildings lengthways in the horseshoe, there was also a large building on each side of me. But apart from the watchtowers around the perimeter fence, this was the camp; the rest was open ground. Looking beyond the perimeter at the surrounding countryside, in all directions there was nothing to be seen, that is, buildings or animals. The whole area for about a mile was flat and any buildings or trees had been removed, leaving it totally exposed. I could see why the German Officer was claiming this camp to be escape proof. but we will see, I don’t intend being a prisoner any longer than I have to be, as I took in my surroundings I could see that I was not on my own, after all this is a prisoner of war camp. I was later to find out that I was one in about 500 internees. There were some men scattered around, the nearer ones looking at me, showing some interest. Then I noticed that three men were coming in my direction my welcoming committee I suppose.

The one on the left of the group spoke first. He was a tall thin man, his hair was jet black, and he looked about forty years old. He was dressed in an army uniform with Captain’s pips on the shoulders.

“Hi, I’m Jim Barnes, welcome to Stalag 23, who are you?”

“David Bell, late of Blighty,” I answered.

“This is Lieutenant Andrew Goff and Sergeant Dick Pennymore.” I looked at them more closely and Andrew Goff appeared to be suffering from a chest problem. Because, although he was reasonably fit looking, especially with his heavy moustache, he seemed to be wheezing a bit, chesty like. His associate Dick Pennymore though probably had enough wind for the pair of them. I would think that he worked out every day. He was obviously very fit.

Jim Barns seeing me eyeing the others said. “If you will come with us we will get you settled. First though, we will see the C.O., then some of the lads.”

I followed them across to the huts; we turned right into the second hut on the right hand end of the horseshoe, as we entered. We instantly felt the coolness away from the glare of the sun outside also it was easier on the eyes. There were a number of men, about seven or eight in the hut, and I felt all eyes on me.

Jim led the way, and we approached a man sitting on his bed.

“Bill; meet David Bell, he says, late of Blighty.”

“David, this is Major Bill Huchinson, Royal Marines. He is the Senior Officer and so is the Commanding Officer.”